


The Apostate Family of Lothering

by missema



Series: Angie and Wendy [1]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: Compromising situations, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gwaren, Kirkwall, Longing, Lost Love, Lothering, Mages, Templars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-28 09:04:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missema/pseuds/missema
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A kmeme prompt for a F!Hawke that gets caught using magic in Lothering by Ser Bryant and enters a relationship with him to protect her family, but gets is seen by a sibling while she's with the templar, compromising them all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This world is owned by Bioware, the original fiction is my creation.

"I'm thinking about leaving."  Angela Hawke confided to her sister Bethany one day as they walked towards Lothering.

"What?"  Bethany said.  She was younger than Angela by six years and she looked up at her twenty year old sister.

"I've been thinking about moving maybe.  It's nothing serious, just wondering what else is out there in Ferelden."

"But we've lived in plenty of places before Lothering."  Bethany said, not comprehending.

"Yeah, but it's different to be on your own."  Angela mused.  When she looked down at Bethany's pained face she smiled.  "Don't pay attention to me Beth, you know I'm a big baby.  A week away from home and I'd be running back home, while mom and dad would likely have turned my room into their study."

Bethany laughed and the relief in it was evident to her elder sister.  Angie did want to leave, but she couldn't face the look that Beth had just given her.  Would it be this hard to explain it to their parents?

Her sister was chattering easily at her side, talking about trifles, small things that had happened recently between her and her twin brother Carver.  The two were both doing their best to annoy each other.  Beth was recounting something that Carver had said to someone they knew when Angie held her hand up, waving her sister silent.  There was someone following them, keeping just out of sight.

When she looked around, she saw it was a band of bandits.  Cursing, Angie wished that she'd brought along the family's hound to help them fight.  It would be close with just her defending them.  She refused to let Bethany do magic outside of the house - if anyone was going to get caught, it would be her.  She was an adult and she could defend herself.

"Get behind me."  Angie said to Bethany, as two bandits approached them.  

To head them off, Angie shot flames at them, hoping they would flee at her impressive display.  They did not, but their pace slowed as they drew closer to the two sisters, obviously hoping that Angie couldn't keep throwing flames at them.  They were wrong.  She let loose a pile of rocks, hitting the bigger of the two men squarely in the chest and pushing him away from her.  The other kept approaching, and she saw the gleam in his eye.  He had something planned for her.

Out of nowhere, the man lunged at her and Angie was beating him with her staff as she let loose pulses of energy.  She screamed for Bethany to stay put as she attacked the man and his recovered friend.  With each hit, she lost a bit more mana and she could feel herself tiring.  The thug that she'd knocked in the chest came up on her side, flanking her and she didn't have the presence of mind to try and fight both at the same time. Angie felt Bethany cast mind blast, pushing both men away from them and she cursed.  

"Leave these girls alone."   An unfamiliar voice entered the fray and she could hear metal crunching against the gravel as a man walked towards them.  

Angie was panting, still fighting when the bulky man went rigged and sagged against the sword that had just run him through. When the sword withdrew, she shot lightning at the other bandit, taking him down finally as he tried to run away. She looked up into the face of their helper, hoping that she could convince them she hadn't been using magic with a winning smile. It would be no use, Angie thought as she ground her teeth in frustration. It was a templar that had saved them.

"You are an apostate." The templar said as he extended his hand to Angie.

"And you are a templar." She said to the man behind the visor. She had no idea who this man was.

"Please ser templar, don't hurt my sister." Bethany said from behind her. The templar looked at her and took off his helmet. They knew this templar, he served in Lothering.

"Ser Bryant." Angie said, recognizing him instantly. She'd flirted with the templar on several occasions, though he was a bit older than her. He was part of the reason why she didn't mind the long walk into the village from her family's farmstead. It was reckless, a mage flirting with a templar, it was like courting danger of discovery but she'd been drawn to him, asking him about his time in the order and talking to him until the sun dipped dangerously low in the sky.

"Angela. Damn." He said softly, looking her over. "Are either of you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine." Angie said and behind her Bethany shook her head.

"Come with me then, I'll walk you to the village, if you still wish to go there." Ser Bryant said and they complied, unsure of what to do in the presence of a templar that had just seen Angie doing magic.

When they got to the village, Angela let Bethany go on ahead as she stayed back to talk with Ser Bryant. She was confused by his behavior since they'd met on the road and she wanted to know what he had in mind for her. Somehow, she didn't think he'd be turning her in.

"So now what?" Angie asked him.

"I don't want to turn you in Angela. You're obviously not a danger, otherwise we'd have been called to your farmhold years ago."

"I'm so glad you recognize that." Angie said, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

"I'm not a monster Angela, I'm just a man trying to do his job."

"What happens to me in the course of your job?" Angela asked him. She watched his face, searching it for the answer she knew she wouldn't hear.

"I don't know." He answered finally, unable to figure out what to do. His rough hands covered his face, resting momentarily on his eyes.

"Ser Bryant, why don't we come to a compromise?" She reached over and touched his hand, relieved that he didn't pull away. The templar said nothing, but she read the confusion in his eyes.

"I think if you and I meet regularly and you check and make sure that I am not involved in anything awful, that should be enough, right? Can't we arrange some kind of meeting between the two of us? One where you and I both leave satisfied?"

She watched him comprehend the meaning of what she proposed and bit her bottom lip. It seemed much more tawdry when you said it aloud than when you thought things like, 'if we screw, you won't tell your buddies I'm an apostate.' The truth was that she liked Ser Bryant anyway and this would be no hardship for her. Angela's hand was still over his as he looked out on the horizon, mulling over what she'd offered. She wanted to be brazen, bold and kiss him but she didn't dare, opting to squeeze his hand, lacing her fingers between his as she did.

He stole a look at her after she did, she'd looked away from him and he glanced at her, watching the wind drag the ends of her dark brown hair. Angela was beautiful, big green eyes with long lashes, tall and shapely with a walk that could make a man melt. They'd flirted so often before and it seemed genuine, it had to have been. Those encounters had fueled his dreams, he'd spent many nights in his bed wishing that he could feel her hands wrapped around him instead of his own. She'd laughed at his jokes, treated him to her wide smile and came into the village far more than was necessary just to see him. He had to know if it was real.

"Do you like me? All of those times you flirted with me, did you like me?" Ser Bryant asked her softly.

"I did like you. I like you still." Angie told him truthfully.

"Take your sister home." He asked in a low tone. His heart was beating in his ears and he couldn't believe he was actually entertaining this proposition. The Order dictates that mages are to be sent to a Circle so they are not a danger to themselves or others. But he knew Angela and it would devastate her family. It wouldn't be because of him.

"Can I meet you tonight? Just to talk." Ser Bryant clarified. He didn't know if he was still going to accept her offer. He had to think, but he needed to understand her before he could make a decision.

"Yes, we can meet tonight. How about near Barlin's?" He knew the spot she spoke of immediately, a large tree near old man Barlin's property that had become a meeting spot with people going into Lothering.

"Alright. After sundown. And here." He handed her a vial of lyrium that he kept on his person for emergencies. She looked down at his open palm and gasped.

"Why?"

"I don't want you getting caught by bandits again before I get there." Ser Bryant said softly. "Just take it Angie, I've got more." He looked into her eyes and she nodded, her hand closing over the vial in his outstretched palm.  She trusted him.


	2. Chapter 2

He walked away from her after she'd nodded, and she watched his back retreat towards the Chantry, each step across the muddy ground making his iron clad feet sink slightly into the earth. Bethany had been stealing glances over her shoulder at them the whole time, tossing her scared looks as they'd talked. She came running over once Ser Bryant left, fear plastered to her pretty face.

"What did he say Sister? Is everything going to be okay?" Bethany could barely keep the words in once she reached Angela.

"We're okay for now. He and I are going to talk tonight, but I need you to stay calm. He wouldn't want to talk if he were going to drag me off to the Circle." Angela said trying to calm both herself and her little sister. The head of the templars in Lothering had seen her using magic and let her go for now. It was almost too much for her to comprehend.

"I hope not Sister because if they come for you, they're going to wind up taking all of us." Bethany said resolutely. The promise to defend each other was implied and she could hear it in Beth's voice. The attack today had made her bold, she'd helped fight off those bandits. Angie knew it would make her reckless if they had to fight again so soon.

"It won't come to that." Angela said, smiling at her sister finally. She tried to put all her reassurances into that smile, all the hope that Ser Bryant was the man that Angie thought he was. Her heart told her that he was a good man and that it wouldn't come to a fight. At least she hoped it wouldn't come to that.

She slung an arm around Bethany's shoulders, steering her along. They finished their business in town, speaking too loudly to people and laughing too hard at the merest instance of a joke. Angie's nerves got the better of her and every interaction made her more paranoid. She was never as relieved to go back home as she was that day.

She waited for the night, restless and impatient as the day stretched on. Carver picked on her, prodding her about her obvious distraction. She ignored him, fueling his desire to be even more annoying. When the time came, Angie left the house under cover of darkness with the vial that Ser Bryant had given her tucked into her hip pocket. She needed to be able to reach it, but she didn't want it to be visible.

Only Bethany knew where she was going, but she wouldn't say anything unless there was trouble. She didn't want to worry anyone unnecessarily or ruin the chance she'd been given with Ser Bryant. Her heart told that he was a good man, and she knew he fought his conscience and training by allowing her to remain free.

As she walked towards their meeting place, she could feel her heart pounding in her chest, the rapid thumps sounding like a herd of approaching oxen to her own ears. Angie smiled as she drew nearer to the tree, she could see the outline of his armor-clad form in the distance, waiting for her. He appeared to be alone; she listened for others but heard nothing but her own soft steps on the road. If there were templars lying in wait to apprehend her, they were completely still and silent to her ears.

Bryant was already at the tree when she arrived and Angie smiled nervously at him. At first he said nothing to her, but then shyly took her hand and they began to walk the worn path towards Lothering.

"Did you run into any trouble?" He asked her in a hushed voice.

"No, everything was fine."

"Who taught you?"

"What?" Angie was confused by the question.

"You're obviously a well-trained mage and you don't lack for self-control. I just wanted to know who taught you your magic. I won't come after them, I promise." He said, looking at her concerned face.

"I won't say, I'm sorry Bryant. I can't." Angie shook her head, trying to dispel the thoughts of templars swooping down on her father. She knew him well enough to know he wouldn't even fight, that he would go quietly back to the Circle.

"I understand." He said finally, stopping as he looked out into the endless stretching field to their right. The stars twinkled tiny pinpricks from above and the large moon cast light down on them. Angie moved until she was facing him, standing close to him in the darkness.

"Bryant, you can turn me if you want but you know I'm no danger. It would be a terrible hardship to my family and I'm a grown woman. If I were going to turn into an abomination, I'd have done it long before this." Angie said in a hushed voice, speaking more into her chest than to him.

"It's not your magic that's troubling me, it's the what you propositioned. I want you, but this feels wrong, making a deal like this."

"Then forget what I said." Her eyes met his momentarily before she continued. "Before today we still liked each other, wanted to be together. So why not? Can we count this as a date?"

He sighed and pulled away from her. She watched him twist his head around, eyes narrowed as he looked around them.

"Do you know this stretch well? Is there a place where we can go to get off the road?" Ser Bryant didn't want to attract attention if someone happened upon them.

"Over there." Angie pointed to a place far off in the distance, something that looked like little more than shadow to his eyes.

She led him off the road to a outcropping of large, flat brown rocks that were in the middle of a field that seemed more dirt than vegetation. The rocks shielded them from view and Angie settled herself on the edge of one, the cold seeping into her behind from the rough stone. He sat near her and she heard the soft clang of his plate as he bumped against the rock accidentally.

The day of discovery and fear had drained her and as she sat there next to him, Angie found she didn't really care what his next argument was. It was just him justifying his feelings to himself, as she was ready to point it out to him. The unfairness of the situation coursed through her once again, and she resented the control that the man she had feelings for had over her life. He could determine her fate, and she felt powerless. Angie felt the resentment building in her and she tried to organize her angry thoughts in her mind, so that she could give voice to them but before she could Ser Bryant moved.

His face was looking down at hers wearing a strange expression and he kissed her before she could speak. The kiss was hungry and artless, the pure desire behind it more than enough to make up for the roughness. She parted her lips, inviting his tongue into her mouth and he pulled her closer to him, his arms wrapped around her as his tongue met hers.

As her body pressed against his, he cursed his heavy plate armor. He wanted nothing more than to be able to feel the flush he could see rising in her. Angie wound her fingers through his hair, pushing him into her as they kissed. Her arousal surprised him, he still had his doubts as he came out here. The kiss that they were wrapped in proved him otherwise as it grew in intensity, bruising his lips as their hands groped at each other.

When they finally broke apart, neither of them spoke for a moment, but Bryant took her hand in his. In the moonlight, he could see her eyes sparkling and she sighed contentedly next to him. Somehow he was reminded of the first time he'd seen her, when he was reassigned to Lothering three years before. Her family had been in the Chantry for a service, and they'd been reading the Canticle of Trials.

 _"Though all before me is shadow,  
Yet shall the Maker be my guide.  
I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond.  
For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light  
And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost."_

All throughout the service his eyes had rested on her. It was rare to see all the Hawkes out together, her father preferred to stay on their farm but he hadn't known that at the time. All he'd known was that she was beautiful, bright green eyes and dark hair, a turned up nose with a smattering of freckles across her nut-brown skin. She was wearing a dress, plain and similar to the one her mother was wearing, and it had probably once belonged to her mother but it fit her daughter perfectly. The lack of adornment only brought out how her own natural beauty.

"That's Angela Hawke." Another templar had whispered in his ear as he watched the young woman preparing to leave the Chantry. "They live just outside of the village on a farm." The other man told him, nodding in the general direction to the north.

As they were walking out of the Chantry, Angela had given him the smallest of smiles, catching the eye of the new templar that had been staring at her. Her smile brought forth on of his own, and he grinned back at her, earning a real smile from her in return. A week later she'd returned and asked him his name, and as he later found out, inquiring to the other templars as to his age. At twenty-six, he was nearly a decade older than Angela, but it didn't trouble either of them. She came back to speak with him every time she came to Lothering after that.

Now, three years later he was holding onto her in the darkness, kissing the lips that had once given him hope with just a small grin. She'd offered herself to him to keep her family safe, but Bryant didn't want that from her. He couldn't let her trade herself, even though he knew many templars would eagerly take her up on the offer. It wasn't how he wanted to think of Angela, desperate and bargaining herself away for freedom. How would that be any worse than making a deal with a demon?

"If we are together, I want it to be because you care about me, not for any other reason. I'd never turn you or your family in Angela, I couldn't live with myself if I did." Bryant stated in a gruff voice.

"Don't doubt my affection for you.  I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be."  She replied softly, rubbing her lips together to bring the feeling back to them.  

"Then not tonight, Angela."  He said to her.  Angela looked up at him, confused and fit her hand around his jaw.

"Please don't tempt me further tonight."  Ser Bryant looked pained as he returned her gaze.  She rubbed his chin, the stubble tickling her hand as she did.  

"Then we should meet again."  Angie said softly.  "Will you walk with me?"

He nodded and they rose from their dusty rock perches, making their way slowly across the field of dirt and short, scrubby grass.  They said nothing as they walked side by side, not touching as they journeyed towards her small family farmhold.  Ser Bryant could still feel the heat of her, her flushed body tortuously warm as he tried his best not to reach out and take her hand.  Letting her know how much he wanted her, how much he'd wanted this for so long would cause her to falter as well, and he didn't wish to do this here, like two sneaking teenagers.

When her house was in sight, he stopped walking and after a few paces she realized he wasn't next to her and turned around.  It was growing cold, the residual heat of the day burned off completely as the complete cold of the night took over.  The moon shone down on Angela as she looked at him quizzically in the darkness, questioning him without saying a word.

"I should leave you here."  Bryant said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Be safe on your way back to the Chantry."

"I always try to."  He said, and though she couldn't see it, she heard the smile in his words.  Angela walked back to him and embraced him again in the darkness, fumbling slightly as her hands reached for him, hesitant and unsure.

"Don't doubt my affection for you."  She repeated in his ear.  "I care for you."  

"And I you, my lady."  

Bryant watched her figure retreat towards the farm in the distance, watching until he was certain that she was back inside before he turned back down the road that would lead him to Lothering.  Inside of his armor, his heart was racing still from his contact with her, his body pulsing with frustration.  _A walk would do him good_ he told himself, but without conviction.  

When Angie crept back into to her bedroom, a small room that had once been meant for something other than living, Bethany was sleeping in her bed.   She must have been waiting for Angie to return and fallen asleep.  Her sister's slight form was huddled in the middle of the bed, devoid of blankets and her skin was cool to the touch.  Angie tossed a blanket over the girl balled in the middle of her bed, then changed her own clothes before joining her sister.  As soon as she settled in, her tired eyes closed and she pushed away all thoughts of the long day.  Tomorrow things would be much, much clearer were her last coherent thoughts before sleep descended upon her.

Sunlight streamed into the room through the lone, tiny window above Angie's bed, where she and Bethany were still huddled in a mass of limbs.   

"Ugh, get up already."  Bethany's muffled voice was saying from somewhere near Angie's left elbow.

"What?"  Angela was not at all sure where she was.  It took her a few moments to orient herself after waking and she sat in the bed, rubbing her eyes and scowling.

"Tell me what happened last night, I waited but it took you forever to get back."  Beth was looking at her with impatience written on her sleep-creased face.  Her messy braid hung low on her back and she was wearing a lace collared flannel nightdress that she was outgrowing.  

"Nothing happened.  Well, we kissed a little but that was it."

"You KISSED a templar?!"  Bethany's voice rose and Angie shushed her sister, wide awake at the thought of being overheard.  She frantically waved her hands in Bethany's face, trying to quiet her.

"Yes, now get out of my room.  No one's going to haul me away, but I told you that yesterday.  If he was going to do it, he'd have done it in Lothering."  Angie stated definitively, but even she hadn't been sure yesterday.  Bethany eased out of her bed onto the braided rug in the center of the room and her elder sister laid back against the pillows, closing her eyes again and willing sleep to come back.

"Angela, have you seen...oh Bethany, there you are!"  Their mother's voice came from the doorway and Angie opened her eyes again reluctantly.  She apparently wasn't getting back to sleep today.  

"Sorry Mother, I slept with Angie last night.  I had a nightmare."  Bethany said, her eyes downcast as she lied.

"It's alright, darling.  Come on you two, breakfast is ready."


	3. Chapter 3

A few days went by without incident, and Angela was glad for the relative normalcy for it gave Bethany a chance to regain her calm.  Despite Angie's assurances, her sister was still distressed, worried that templars might come for them in the middle of the night.  When her mother mentioned needing something from the village one morning, it was with some relief that Angie volunteered to go get it alone, she needed to get out of the house.  It had been starting to feel like a prison with Beth's edginess and her own growing anxiety when she realized she had no plan for seeing Ser Bryant again.

Bryant looked for her every single day amongst the dusty faces that came through the town, spending more time than he needed patrolling, wondering if he'd be blessed with her smile again. He dared not to dream of getting another kiss from her, but craved the taste of her lips with such a ferocity that it made him moan aloud when he thought of it. Part of him began to wonder if his time with Angie had been imagined, conjured by his needy imagination, but he couldn't set aside the searing heat he felt whenever he recalled their kisses.

Nights were a torment for him, because no matter how tired he was, his mind seemed to want only her, and he could see her clearly whenever he closed his eyes. At just the mere thought of her, his beleaguered body grew too warm, and he suffered libidinous dreams where her kisses went far lower than his lips. In the mornings he awoke, tired, cranky and hungry for Angela, a desire he didn't dare speak of, not yet when their liaison was still so tenuous.

The sun was fully overhead when Angie reached Lothering, and she saw no sign of Ser Bryant amongst the templars she passed. Her heart felt heavy as she looked around for the familiar brown hair, his kind smile but found only other, unwanted men answering her gazes. When she sought him out in the Chantry, she was told it was his day of rest but one of his fellow templars offered to find him in the barracks.

"Angie." He called out to her, coming from the barracks. She'd turned her back to the doorway, standing there nervously as she'd waited for him, delight and dread at seeing him again coursing through her in equal measure.

Before him she looked dazzlingly angelic, her brown hair shining in the sunlight, the pale yellow dress she wore clingy in just a few places, short enough to show off her impressive legs but not improper. Ser Bryant swallowed thickly as he walked over to her, unsure of what he wanted to say now that she was in front of him.

"Hello." She answered, her voice soft. Ser Bryant motioned to her to follow him and they walked away from the main part of Lothering, down past the tavern, Dane's Refuge, past the giant tree and near the river that ran through the town.

They sat together in the tall grass, mostly obscured from view of the casual passerby and at first neither could find the words. The air between them was awkward and hesitant, Angie wishing she'd practiced or at least thought of something to say before she'd come into town. She stole a glance at him, admiring the shape of his muscular body in his trousers and linen shirt, noting that he still managed to look bulky even without the thick plate armor worn by the templars.

At the same time, they began to talk.

"Did you have any trouble getting into town?" He asked.

"I didn't know it was your rest day." Angie began. The two of them looked at each other and laughed. Taking a chance, Bryant reached over and took Angela's hand in his own. The gesture warmed her and she smiled at him, scooting nearer to him in the grass.

"I'm sorry I didn't come sooner." Angela began again. Her voice was husky and deep, more was left unsaid by her comment than she intended.

He traced her delicate features with a thick finger, outlining her nose and jaw, cupping her chin in his large, calloused hand. Angie leaned into his movements, closing her eyes as she felt the faint line he drew with his fingertips. When he fit his hand around her chin, she turned her head and kissed his palm. With that one kiss, the templar grew bolder, and brought his lips to hers. It was just as it had been the other night in the dusty seclusion of Barlin's field, but better, less nervous.

Angie felt her body flush, heating like a hearth as they continued to kiss, their bodies so close together they appeared nearly fused as one figure huddled in the tall grass near the water. Hungry hands grasped at her body and she couldn't claim she had any more control than he, her hands searched his frame, exploring and eagerly seeking out the hardness beneath his leathers. When her hands stroked the bulge between his legs, Ser Bryant moaned and pushed her onto her back, his hand behind her head as she lowered herself to the ground.

"Angela." He rasped her name in a heated groan, his hot lips pressed to her neck as he spoke. Just the sensation of his breath on her overheated skin made her writhe with pleasure beneath him.

She pulled at his hair, running her hands through it, touching and feeling him as they rolled in the grass. Her dress was up around her thighs, and she'd tugged his shirt from the waistband of his trousers, so she could snake a hand up the muscle she'd felt through the fabric. Under his clothes, he was glorious, a marvel of chiseled, sinewy muscle, thick and strong beneath the surprisingly smooth skin of his back and the whorls of hair decorating his chest.

Wet kisses peppered her collarbone, and she felt his fingers sweeping over her breasts through her dress, her nipples growing hard below both dress and breastband. Inhaling deeply, Angie took in the distinctly masculine scent of Ser Bryant; a soapy, clean scent, mixed with heavier smell of Chantry incense and candle wax, and something just of him, deep and rich. The intoxicating scent made her lightheaded with desire, spurring her forward recklessly. A clever hand dipped past his waistband, fingers finding his cock and stroking at it, teasing the hardness.

"Not here." Ser Bryant panted, prying himself away from her. It took nearly all of his resolve to disentangle himself from her warm, willing body but he forced himself to sit up.

"Where?" Angie asked, not deterred by his abruptness. Lust darkened his eyes and she'd felt how much he'd wanted her; this was just a momentary pause, some hesitation of his. She adjusted her dress, bringing the hem down over her knees, closing the buttons on her chest that he hadn't realized he'd opened in his frenzy to be near to her flesh, to press his lips to it.

"Let's go back to town." He said, standing and offering her a hand to help her up.

"That seems like the opposite of the direction we should head in." Angie grumbled. To that, he just smiled at her, pulling her to her feet.

Promising to hurry back, he left her near a merchant's cart as he scurried off to find another templar called Maron.  Deciding to put his absense to good use, Angie purchased the few items her mother had sent her after while she waited, lingering over the meager goods displayed in front of her.  Trade was slow in Lothering, despite their location.  There hadn't been many Chasind or Wilders from the south coming into town lately, and the economy relied on their steady influx of goods.

She looked up in time to see Ser Bryant beckoning to her from the door of the barracks.  With her answering nod, he disappeared inside, waiting for her.  Angie entered the dark building, her eyes adjusting to the dim lighting as she looked around.  _What was she doing here?  Sneaking around like some kind of harlot, s_ he thought, as high-pitched, nervous laughter screamed in her head.  She felt frantic, wanted to turn around and walk right out of the door, despite the summons from the delicious templar.  

Just a moment after she entered the door, Ser Bryant appeared out of the shadow to take her hand in his and her mind calmed again.  There was something comforting about him, something steady and strong, that made her feel like this wasn't just some deal she'd made but as if their relationship had resume its inevitable course, now that he knew the truth about her.

He led her away from the entrance, down a hallway.  There were so few templars in Lothering that in the past she'd wondered why they'd gotten their own building, but upon seeing the inside she understood.  There were training rooms, weapons and the like carefully tended, she walked past a kitchen and a room with a long dining table - apparently they took their meals away from the Chantry priests and then past a room filled with bunks.  When they passed the communal bedroom, and an empty study, her heart sank ever so slightly, and she wondered what they were doing here.

Beyond the door to the study was another door, large and wooden, shut but not locked and Bryant pushed it open and led her inside.  It was a bedroom, a small, private, spartan space.  There was a neat bed, a threadbare rug and a small trunk, presumably containing clothes and blankets, possibly personal effects.  On the walls were the crest of the Templar Order and a small, holy symbol of Andraste hanging beneath a high window.  There was no other decoration besides the two things, and those looked like they came with the room.

"Is this your room?"  Angie asked, her green eyes looking around the room.  It was barely bigger than the bed and rug, but the bed was big enough for two she noted in delight.

"Yes. As the head of Lothering's templars, I get my own quarters."  Ser Bryant smiled at her.  

His templars were few in number, usually less than twenty, but he was afforded this small amount of privacy, and the study they'd passed was where he did the insuffurable amount of paperwork that ate too much of his time.  He'd been working in it when Angela had come to Lothering, looking for him.  Had he any sense, they would have started here, but he thought being out in the open would help curb his desire to rush.  Truly a mistaken idea if there ever was one.

Without heed to how much strength she put behind her movements, she launched herself at him, and he reacted just in time to keep his balance as she flew at him.  Wrapping his arms around her and staggering backwards only slightly, Ser Bryant chuckled softly at the enthusiasm in her breathless, fierce kisses.  His laughter turned into a moan as his body flushed with heat, remembering just how close they'd been before he'd brought her back here.

He heard a thump as the satchel full of goods she'd picked up while waiting for him hit the ground. He'd been making sure the barracks would remain empty while he was with Angela. Normally, the templars turned their heads to the normal needs of each other, but when there were feelings involved, it wasn't uncommon for someone to request a little privacy. He had his own room, yes, but he wanted to spare Angie the indignity of rumors for as long as possible.

Only just able to reach the door, he let his fingertips push it forward and it slammed shut with an almighty bang that shook the frame. Neither of them truly noticed as they tumbled, kissing and groping backwards onto the bed that dominated the tiny room. Shucking his clothes as quickly as possible by the side of the bed, his grey eyes traveled over to where she stood letting her dress pool in a heap onto the orange rug, followed by her smallclothes.

"By the Maker, you are exquisite." He breathed, his awestruck voice making her feel a little embarrassed. His tone was raw and honest, and he burned with sincerity, feeling as if he were handpicked to have such beauty bestowed upon his eyes.

She had a beautiful body, he'd noticed that before, but seeing her without clothes made it all the more evident. The allure of her ripe, nude body begged for his fingers to reach out to caress the silk of her skin, her perfection made his dreams seem amateurish, as if he had never seen a woman naked before.

Angie possessed one of the finest, muscled frames he'd ever seen, her time working on the family farm evident in the fitness of her figure. Long, lean legs led up to curvy hips and a high, rounded bottom. Her belly was flat, the skin there soft, so soft, he thought as he took it in with eager, greedy eyes. The pert breasts were crowned with dark nipples that stood at attention, pebbled and ready to be taken into his mouth.

Ser Bryant sat on the edge of his bed and she stood next to him, letting him slide a hand up her naked bottom, reverentially grazing the taut, smooth skin. As she stood there, he whispered light kisses across her skin, slowly at first, with the same feeling of awe as when he'd spoken, but then as his need increased, more insistent, teasing and begging simultaneously with his lips and caresses.

He was making her melt, making it hard to stand up straight, her body curving into his as his lips continued their assault across her heated, overstimulated skin. Weak-kneed, Angie gave in, dropping back onto his mattress with him beneath her. Bryant swept his legs onto the bed, bringing both of them fully onto the cushioning, legs no longer dangling over the side.

"Lay back." Angie instructed in a hoarse whisper as she hovered above him. She was nervous, but her excitement overrode it. A few years in the past she'd done away with her virginity, but there hadn't really been much activity recently. Before Ser Bryant, she'd spent an interesting two days with a sellsword, enough to know how to be good at what she was about to do.

  
He did as she asked, closing his eyes as his head rested against his pillow. His face was almost serene as he lay, waiting for her and though his eyes were closed, she eyed him shyly, unable to contain the blush that spread over her as she looked at the tanned, corded muscle of his thigh were his erection lay.

Ser Bryant was a marvel, hard with thick muscle, huge wide chest dusted with dark hair and lean waist above his powerful legs. He looked as if he had been carved out of marble, so magnificent was he, down to the very smallest details, the tiny dimples, the smattering of hair that started at his navel and led tantalizingly lower.

She took his cock in her mouth and he gasped at the unexpected wet heat. Angie absorbed his blissful sighs as they made her bolder, more confident in her skill. The tip of her tongue ran along his length and she tasted him, cupping his balls in her hand, touching the sensitive skin with light strokes. She alternately sucked on him, taking him fully into her mouth, gorging herself on his cock and lapping at the head, letting the bitter fluid dance on her tongue.

Arousal swept through his veins like wildfire, unleashed want building a frenzy in him as he humped into her movements, hips surging upward to bring his cock deeper into her as he drew closer to his climax. Huge, strong hands locked onto her shoulders, holding her in place as his hips took over the motion set by her head, and she no longer bobbed into him but focused on sucking as his cock filled her mouth. Ser Bryant stiffened and then she felt the hot gush of his seed as he erupted. Angie swallowed it down, letting his bucking die down as his orgasm receded.

She crawled up next to him in bed and he lay on his side to make room for her. Rough hands resumed their earlier exploration of her, this time more intent. His hand grazed a nipple, tweaking it, teasing until it became hard and tight beneath his touch. Angie gasped as he lowered his mouth to it, suckling at the peak, his hand moving lower, skimming over her electrified skin. Pleasure flowed through her as he sucked deeply, moving from one to the other as his hand parted her thighs.

Unexpectedly his fingers didn't venture into her folds, or sink down into the wet heat of her sex, but he coaxed out her pearl, rubbing and working at the sensitive nub. Angie felt the welcome fluttering of a building orgasm as his thumb circled her clit, faster, pressing down on it as she moaned, his mouth sucking harder at her nipples. She was sopping wet beneath his hand, and she didn't know what she wanted more, for him to bestow his cock upon her, filling her or to let him go and grant her release after release. Both tempting options were within reach, flitting through her mind as prickles moved across her skin and she spasmed, coming with a yell that died into a whimper.

Listening to her cry at the crest of her climax made Ser Bryant's already hardening cock more than ready again and he slid into her easily, hilting himself in just a few thrusts. They sighed in tandem as he did, he first at the unbelievable heat and tightness of her and then she at the relief brought by his cock, the stretching that made her ache in the most satisfying way.

The pace was quick, too much longing between the two to make their coupling slow and gentle. He promised himself that should he ever have the privilege again, he'd see to it that they explored more, took their time, but it was near impossible at the moment. She rolled her hips against his, delicious friction coming from her skin, and tight, grasping heat sucking his cock deeper each time he drove into her. Somewhere in her breathy moans, the mewling cries, he heard her calling his name and it made him lose control. He gave such a fierce thrust that her eyes popped wide open and she squeaked, startled out of her rhythm as he gave in to the climax that was already sending shivers down his spine.

  
They lay there, panting, sweaty bodies glued together on the dishevled bed.   Time passed and Angie had no idea what time it was, and didn't care she realized as she let the contentment roll through her, replacing her earlier, frenzied arousal.

"Why did we go to the river earlier?"  Angela asked, a languid, peaceful look on her face.  She rolled over next to him, propping herself up on an elbow to look him in the eye.  Her lazy fingers trailed against his warm skin, touching his chest, stroking his face, in an intimate manner.

"I wasn't expecting to see you again, and I had no wish to corner you in my quarters, as if you had no choice.  As naive as it seems, I thought you might just want to talk."  He chuckled softly but then looked up at her, threading a hand through her hair.  "However, I couldn't let us be discovered by the riverbank.  We aren't like the Bann's men, our rules apply to our duties as well as our lives.  The Revered Mother wouldn't be able to turn a blind eye if we'd been seen and she alone has the power to send me away."  He felt her shudder at his words and he found it strangely comforting.  She didn't want to lose him.  

"Does that mean this is secret?  I mean, I don't mind, but I'd just like to know."  

"I...do not know yet.  We aren't restricted from taking a spouse, which would mean there would have to be some sort of allowance for a courtship, but life in the Order can be difficult.  Most liaisons are brief and conducted clandestinely.  I think for now, it is just best to proceed with caution, lest someone from the Chantry or,"  he looked furtively at her, "your family find out."

It put a damper on things when he mentioned her family, but he was right, they would be suspicious, possibly even angry at her for starting a relationship with a templar, no matter what prompted it.  As the thoughts crossed her mind, she looked out the high window and realized that it was far past time for her to go.

"It's time for me to go, well long since, but I need to get back to the farm before nightfall."  She said, standing up.  Her discarded clothes were in a heap on the floor, mixed with his and he watched her sort through the garments with a look of melancholy on his face.

"When will I see you again?"  He asked, hoping that his concerns hadn't daunted her interest.

"Do you patrol?  Was that how you came upon us that day on the road?"

"Sometimes."  He frowned.  "Not as often as I'd like."  He said, thinking back to the bandits.  "More often than not, my days are taken up with paperwork and other tedious duties."

"I'll tell you what."  Angie said, leaning towards where he sat, still naked, on the bed.  She was dressed again and smelled like grass and sex.  It made him want to pull her back into his bed, locking her in his arms and making love until they both were too exhausted to move.  "I'll come to Lothering and see you when I can, and if you patrol, you come by and see me."

Angie smiled then and he found himself grinning back at her, considering the possibilities.  It would be good to not be in the same place all the time, less chance of arousing suspicion.  He hooked an arm around her waist, dragging her towards him for another kiss.  

"Then I look foward to every trip you make to the village."  He stated in a voice deep and rumbling, laced with desire. Angie shivered.


	4. Chapter 4

Beth and Angie were acting strangely, had been for quite some time and Carver noticed, he just didn't care. He didn't possess a curious nature at all, finding that curiosity was seldom worth the bother. If he asked, it was just going to be something like when Beth started bleeding every month, and their mother talked to them about babies. Girl stuff. He didn't want to know.

He did need to go into town with Angie to help her get the supplies they needed out on the farm. She was working all the time now, taking on more of the work since their dad got sick. When she wasn't doing things around the house, or sitting in on magic lessons with their dad and Beth, then she was in Lothering, gone for hours at a time.

When they arrived in town, Carver wasted no time distancing himself from his sister. He looked over at the Chanter's Board as she talked with people they knew, nodding at farmers and templars as she passed.

"Hey Carver!" Carver spun around at the voice, and recognized Harim, a guy he sometimes sparred with, about two years older than he.

"Hey Harim." Carver said back, nodding at the older boy.

"My dad and I are going to work on a roof, right in town. Do you want to help? My dad can give you a few silvers."

"Yeah, sure." Carver agreed, but then realized he'd need to ask Angie first, especially if it was going to be a while. "Let me ask my sister." He mumbled, looking around for her. She was nearby, looking at the cart of a traveling merchant, chatting merrily to the stranger.

"Angie, can I go work with Harim and his dad for a while? They are going to give me some silvers." He explained. His sister gave him a funny look, almost relieved.

"Don't get into trouble. You'll be in town, yes? So I can find you?"

"Don't worry." Carver grumbled, but Harim spoke up next to him.

"Hi Angie. We'll be right around here, so when you're done, just give a yell for Carver. It's just a little bit of patching, it won't take too long if there's three of us working." Harim explained. Angie smiled at him and he drew himself up, giving what he hoped was a winning smile in return to Carver's pretty sister.

"Alright, I'll see you later." Angie said, going back to her shopping. Carver followed Harim to the house where his father stood, getting his supplies in order.

"Father, Carver's interested in helping." Harim informed his dad and the older man nodded at him, accepting him in silence. "Let's go." The older boy said to Carver, pointing at a ladder already propped against the house.

It was hard work and they had to be careful about their footing so as not to create more, but Carver loved it, he was good with his hands and working in the sun was no hardship for someone who grew up on a farm. They fell into an easy rhythm, working as a team to replace the damaged parts of the roof. After a while, Carver realized he hadn't heard Harim and that his hammer was the only one still working. Annoyance passed through him but then he stopped and hoped that Harim wasn't hurt in some way and that he'd failed to notice.

Harim wasn't injured, but staring, gaping really, at something Carver couldn't see. Realizing that he'd been abandoned, Carver carefully made his way over to the other boy, trying to figure out what the problem was.

"Why'd you stop?" Carver asked upon seeing Harim simply staring downward.

"Looks like someone's in there with the templar." He pointed at the small window of the building next to where they were working. Carver squinted, trying to see inside.

When he finally brought the scene into focus, he nearly toppled off the roof in surprise. Someone was in there with the templar captain, a naked woman, but who, Carver didn't know - he couldn't see her face through the opening. All he saw was the templar eagerly pressing his mouth to a breast, licking and sucking at the brown nipples of a mystery woman, who arched towards his mouth, his hands on her back, urging her closer.

Carver was just fifteen, but had just started to notice girls and their changes. They giggled and stayed in groups, smelling sweet and whispering whenever he passed. Normally, he thought they were silly, but there were a few he thought he might want to kiss one day. What he saw through the window was a whole other story, he hadn't even known that people liked that. He kept his eye on the enthusiastic coupling, getting an uncomfortable education as he stood in the blazing sun on a rooftop.

The woman with Ser Bryant was now laying flat on the bed, her breasts disappearing from view but Ser Bryant was still visible, and Carver watched entranced as his head dipped between the thighs of the woman in bed with him, the templar doing something that made the woman shake. She must be enjoying herself, Carver thought, wondering exactly what the man was doing.

Bryant took his face away from her crotch and brought a hand to where his face had been. Suddenly the woman's leg dropped over the side of the bed and Carver could see, he could see everything. The finger was going inside the woman, delving into the parts protected by the dark curls and Ser Bryant brought his face back to her, still moving his finger, kissing and sucking at something just out of sight, hidden between her legs.

Inside the tiny room, Angie's body went rigid with release and she cried out, her moans echoing off the stone walls. Bryant lost no time, sliding his cock into Angie's hot, sopping entrance and hilting himself inside of her. She cried out again, startled as he began to thrust, fast and hard into her. They'd been meeting for weeks but he never had enough time with her. He'd missed her so much, he could barely control himself.

"Come on boys, what a man does in his quarters is his own business." Harim's father noticed their work stoppage and came over to address the problem when he saw what both boys were looking at. He'd have to tell that templar to get curtains or something.

Carver turned away, uncomfortable and slightly ashamed that they'd been caught spying, but mostly uncomfortable because of the erection he'd gotten from watching Ser Bryant. Sex looked incredible, but he had more questions now than ever. What was he doing with his tongue? Why did he hear the woman cry like that and who was she? He went back to work, determined to earn his silvers before Angie came and found him. At the thought of his sister, he groaned and was determined never to mention what he'd seen to her - she'd probably smack him for spying.

 

* * *

 __

The ground was hard underneath his feet, cold but not frozen yet as he walked the now familiar path towards the Hawke farmhold.  He'd come to see Angie a few times, not really dropping in on her family because he didn't want to alarm them, but he managed to find his way back to see her after his patrols, when the sun was setting in a haze of burning color.

It was night this time, the first time he'd actually come to see her at night, but there had been trouble on the road during his patrol and he'd had to escort some men to Lothering to be handed over for justice.  Good for nothing theives had been making off with the meager goods they'd stolen from a poor family, a man and his wife with six mouths to feed other than their own.  He didn't understand how people could live without principle.  

Agitated, he peeped into the open door of the small barn where he usually met Angie.  She was in there, pouring milk into a dish for her barn cats.  They mostly kept equipment and supplies in their barn, but she'd told him that before her father had tended a lamb when she was younger.  It always surprised Bryant to hear her speak of her childhood, it was so wonderfully ideal, her family very close.

"Angie."  He whispered into the barn, lit by one lantern as she worked.  A hundred slanted shadows danced around her as she wheeled around at the sound of his voice, squinting at the doorway he'd just walked through.

"You're here."  She said, rushing over to him.  He kissed her soft lips, hooking an arm around her waist and dragging her close to him.  

"We have to hurry."  She said, already trying to free herself from his grip and get undressed.  He frowned at her, the constant urgency was wearing on him.  The novelty of a secret relationship had long since worn off for both of them, and truth be told, he wasn't quite sure why they kept up the pretense.

"I don't want to hurry.  I want to take my time tonight, for once."  He protested.  For once he had a ready excuse, a reason to be out of the barracks at night.  

"Well, I don't have the luxury of time right now."  

"What's going on?"  He asked.  Something was bothering her, making her energy off and her tone snappish.  He tipped her face upwards to look in his eyes, his thumb stroking her face gently.  "You can tell me anything Angie."  

She sighed and turned her face away, but he could see her thinking as she bit on her bottom lip.  Finally she looked back at him.

"This isn't easy anymore.  I care for you, truly, but I miss the days when it was us in the barracks."

"That hasn't changed."

"But we have.  And there are more responsibilites and obstacles than ever.  I just...I wish we could be more permanent."

"If you need a commitment..."  Bryant was more than willing to figure out something, but Angie held up her hand, silencing him.

"Maybe.  I don't know.  I need something, something real, a definition."  Frustration and unhappiness was oozing from her, radiating in waves towards Bryant, making him recoil slightly.  He didn't understand what was wrong, but something clearly was and he had and inkling it wasn't really about the two of them.  She was still in his arms, but as far away as she could possibly be, looking at the opposite wall, but not really seeing it, lost in thought.

"Father is ill." She finally admitted, her voice raw and thick with tears. "We don't know what to do and he gets progressively worse. We thought that maybe a break from the work everyday would help him, but he gets weaker and weaker before our eyes. I'm so scared." She whispered.

Though he'd noticed she was doing more of the work on her family farm, he hadn't thought to ask why. Angela wasn't crying but she was morose, lifeless in his arms and still not looking at him. Bryant squeezed her, hugging her tightly to him.

"I'm sorry Angie. I wish I could give you more than just words. Can I do anything?" He offered, but she shook her head at him.

"Not tonight, let's just talk about this another time. It's too much right now." She straightened up and looked up into his eyes. "You're the one thing, the one thing that takes me away from this horror. There's so much work and duty, I just want to be with you and not think."

If there was one thing that he understood, it was the crushing weight of duty, the relentless, ever-present feeling of the things that have to be done, even when everything else was falling apart. She began to kiss him again, walking backwards, leading him to the darkened corner space they used, the secluded nook ready with a blanket on a pile of hay. He sighed, letting her lead him, wishing she didn't ignite the insane desire that was barreling through him, but that he could take her and hold her, comfort her.

Before he left to go back to Lothering for the remained of the night, he held Angie, whispering to her, calming her. Ser Bryant had no idea if he was helping, but he wanted to be of some comfort, and not just stress relief. Though Angie was surprised by the depths of his tenderness, she let him cradle her in his arms, let him kiss her forehead and tell bad jokes to make her laugh. By the time he needed to go, she was reluctant to let him leave, and she wrapped her arms around herself as she crept into the house, trying to maintain the dying warmth of his protective embrace.

Leandra heard the door close quietly behind Angela as she came into the house. Malcolm was also awake, laying silently in bed next to his wife, who sat up at the sound. She looked out the window and saw the armored figure of a man walking quickly down the road to Lothering, but she couldn't make out any distinguishing features in the darkness.

"When do you think she'll tell us?" Malcolm asked.

"When she's ready. I wasn't exactly forthcoming about you to my parents."

"I hope he loves her like I loved you then. As I love you still." Malcolm's tired, deep voice rumbled in the darkness and Leandra settled next to him in the bed with a smile on her face.

"I do too, my darling." She said before curling into her husband's warm form and going back to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

"Is it his Name Day or something?" Bethany asked Angie as they stood looking at the wares of a traveling merchant they'd met on the road to Lothering. They'd been passing the elven man bundled in ragged furs as he was leaving and they were going toward the village.

"No, it isn't his Name Day. I don't even think he's ever told me when his Name Day is. I just want to get him a gift." Angie replied. She loomed over the selection of goods, picking up a few items and inspecting them. Even in the cold, with snow swirling around them on the frozen road, the merchant was patient, he had learned long ago never to rush a customer.

At last Angie picked up a few jars of jam and a book, which seemed like an odd assortment of gifts to Beth, but even after her sister had been with Ser Bryant for months, she knew next to nothing about the templar. Perhaps he just really loved jam, she mused, wondering what kind of man he was.

What Beth could see was the change in her sister. Things were getting harder at home, and no one pretended like Father was going to recover from his illness. Instead Angie took care of everyone, while Mother took care of Father. She liked Angie with the templar, even though she was the only one who knew. Her sister was happier, noticably happier since she'd started seeing the man in secret.  It pained Beth to keep a secret so huge but there was so little joy for her sister, it wasn't right to take it away from her.  When Angie came from Lothering looking happy and contented, no one bothered to question her.

"Well, I hope he likes your gifts." Bethany said as they walked away from the merchant. "Make him tell you when his Name Day is, then we can make him a small honey cake or something." She suggested thoughtfully. Angie smiled at her.

"Maybe I will." She replied. The sisters walked in silence for a few minutes before Angie started talking again, her mood serious. "Do you think anyone can tell that we're together?"

"Why is it still a secret? I'm sure if you told Mother she would understand."

"Because." Angie actually didn't have an answer for that, it was the same question Bryant had been posing to her every time they saw each other now. "It just is."

"Alright, have it your way. But yes, everyone knows something is different, but not what it is." Beth informed her and Angie stiffened, stopping in her tracks for a moment before resuming their course.

"What do you mean?"

"You look happy, like you have a secret. That's all. I just think that anyone that makes you smile shouldn't have to be a secret, templar or not."

Angie didn't answer. Over the next hill she could see the ruined Imperial bridge that led into town, dotted with the looming, broken Tevinter statues. The town was busy despite the cold, and the plethora of people and carts on the paths in town had softened the ground to muck, snow and slush mixing with the mud beneath it. Angie walked around the path in the knee-high snow, lifting her cloak as she did.

She wasn't skilled in many of the things her mother tried to teach them.  Bethany got all the talent for cooking and Carver happily did the wash just to get out of the house, but Angie could sew and took great pride in her embroidery. Her cloak was thick and ornate, deep crimson with a scrolling pattern along the hem and the collar was lined with dark, sleek furs that she'd saved her money for months to purchase.

It helped, of course, that she was going to see Bryant. She'd been taking extra care before she came into the village as of late, even arranging her hair in different styles and adding color to her lips. Angie berated herself mentally whenever she indulged in the extravagance, wondering why it mattered now how she looked, since he'd already seen her naked. But it did matter, and something had changed.

After questioning Ser Maron, who was helpfully stationed at the entrance to the Chantry, she walked to the barracks, the guard on duty simply nodding at her as she passed. The inside of the building felt more cold than it was outside, the chill seeping in the stone walls and taking up residence, radiating cold throughout the hallways.

"Bryant?" Angie called out, down the hall to alert him to her presence.

"Angie? What are you doing here?" His voice sounded, confused and strained as he answered. Stepping into his doorway, Angie found him almost to the door himself, ready to come down the hall to meet her.

"Love, you can't be here right now. If you're going to be in town for a while, I'll come find you when my meeting is done." Ser Bryant was speaking in a low, rushed tone.

"What's going on?" Angie asked after she'd kissed him, but pressed on, not waiting for his answer.

"I brought you gifts." She exclaimed as she opened her bag to take out the jam and book she'd gotten from the trader earlier. Angie set them on his desk with a flourish, smiling widely at him when she turned around.

When she turned around, she heard someone else coming up the hallway, the swishing of robes against the stone floors and she understood - he was meeting with someone else. The smile slid off her face as jealous thoughts filled her head and irrational tears sprang to her eyes. Bryant stood near the door, a pained look across his face, but unable to move.

"Ser Bryant." The Revered Mother was standing in the doorway, just where Angie had stood moments ago, next to Ser Bryant.

"Your Reverence." He bowed his head as he addressed her, and Angie did the same.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize." Angie stammered, her face flushing as she walked away from the desk, toward the door that was currently being blocked by the Revered Mother. She felt so foolish for jumping to conclusions, letting herself get obscenely jealous in the few seconds it had taken the Revered Mother to walk down the hall.

"It's alright, my child. Be well." The priestess said, blessing her as she rushed out, red-faced and worried. Why didn't she give him a chance to tell her? Angie berated her brazenly foolish behavior while she was out trading goods and conducting business in Lothering, playing the scene over and over in her head, each time worse than the last.

The Revered Mother was speaking with Bryant about a new templar that was coming to replace an older fellow that was to retire to Val Royeaux. They spoke here often, to avoid the many ears that hovered around her study at all times. So many people wanted her counsel, but she wasn't always sure what else they wanted.

During their meeting, she hid her smile and pretended she didn't see the gifts that Angela Hawke left on his desk, the ones he hastily stowed away while he waved her into a seat. Eventually the awkwardness disappeared from his demeanor, around the same time she rose to leave his study and go back to the Chantry. From behind the desk, Ser Bryant stood, and made to open the door for her. As she swept out, she turned to him and spoke once more.

"Oh and Ser Bryant?"

"Yes, Your Reverence?"

"Your girl is lovely. You would do well to marry her." With that, she strode out of the barracks, back to the Chantry.

It would be days before he could see Angie again, and though he'd looked for her in town after the Revered Mother left, she was already gone. He retreated to his chambers, taking his gifts with him. In the small room he opened his trunk, and carefully placed the glass jars of jam inside save for one. The book - it looked like a mystery story, his favorite, he put in the trunk as well next to the two other books he owned, one being the Chant of Light. He took out another tome, one with several sheets of loose paper between the pages. They were drawings, his drawings of Angie.

The one he loved was a picture he'd done as she lay in his bed, sleepy and warm from making love to him, her hand on resting lightly across her flat belly, a smile just for him. She'd been so beautiful, relaxed in a way that she never seemed to be outside of bed that he'd taken ink to page, wanting to remember the moment. Bryant outlined her figure on paper, the lazy look on her face, hair spread behind her head, body naked and curved. It had taken him so long that the room grew cold and the sky dark, but she hadn't protested or rushed him. Afterwards he'd walked her home when he'd finished his sketch, clutching her hand in the darkness as they wandered up the lonely path, stopping for kisses every few feet.

Before he'd come to the Order, he'd known his family. He was one of many, a family too large for the house to hold, too many for his father to feed. But they'd loved him, loved him still and sent him to the Chantry to get an education, to provide for him. In his trunk there were no trinkets passed on from his mam before he'd left, his father had nothing to press into his hand but a few silvers and telling him to always be true to himself.

Bryant wondered what Angie could want, what he could give her in return for her thoughtful gifts, what he could give the woman he desired above all else. If he'd owned something of his mother's or anything of his family, he would give it to her, but he had nothing. He sat on the bed, picture in one hand and jam in the other, lost in thought.

"I thought I'd find you here." Bryant said by way of greeting, a few days later as he leaned against the partially open door to her barn.

Angie's figure, clad in a woolen work cloak nodded at the sound of his voice and after a moment, she abandoned her task to embrace Bryant. Behind her he could see that she was slicing soap, carefully wrapping it in muslin to finish curing. He thought the barn smelled of the caustic, tangy scent of lye when he'd come in and knew why she'd left the door open, despite the cold. Under her cloak she was wearing trousers and a men's shirt, covered in dirt from her work. It hadn't occurred to him that she might take extra care before he came to her on those nights he patrolled, but it was clear that she dressed and bathed for his visits. He was flattered.

"Maker, I thought I'd never see you again. I thought the Revered Mother was going to let you have it for sure." Angie laughed, her arms around his neck. She stopped laughing when she saw the strained look on his face. "Oh, no. Tell me she didn't."

"No, she didn't." He replied and he felt her relax. "But she knows, at least that there is something between us. She told me I would do well to marry you." At that, Angie laughed again, but her voice was alone in the laughter, as it was before and she silenced it quickly.

"Oh, Bryant. We couldn't, could we? I don't know." Angie said thoughtfully, biting her bottom lip as she looked up at him.

"We could be open about us for a start." Bryant replied in a gentle tone, but Angie felt the rebuke anyway.

"I don't want to lose something good because I'm afraid, but this could be difficult. How would we do this?" Her eyes were questioning, dark and a little afraid.

"Maybe we could start with your family." He answered. "But first, you should kiss me. I came all the way here and you haven't kissed me once." Angie giggled, bringing her dirty face to his. As he kissed her, his hands roamed across her body, touching the curves he knew so well, tugging at her clothes.

"But I'm filthy." Angie protested softly as Bryant unbuttoned the work shirt she wore under her cloak. "And it's freezing in here."

"You're beautiful. Keep the cloak on." He muttered into her hair as his fingers kept working. She laughed again, her fingers starting on the straps of his armor.

It was freezing cold and his mother was insisting that he go out and give Angie some dumb cup of tea, so not only would she be cold, but he would too. Carver grumbled and pulled on his boots, hoping to get it over with quickly. Angie was outside in the barn, and he walked swiftly to where the door was cracked open, sliding through the opening without touching the door handle so he wouldn't have to take his hands off the warm teacup.

The first thing that he noticed was that Angie wasn't with the soap. It was a strange thing to notice because had Carver looked down, he would have seen templar armor strew across the ground, he would have heard the giggles and panting that were coming from the corner. Unconsciously Carver backed away, almost into the door. The tea spilled, slopping over the sides of the cup and running lukewarm down his fingers.

Angie was pressed up against a pillar in the barn, her cloak still around her, thank the Maker. But the templar was nude and Carver could see Angie's legs wrapped around his waist as she moaned into the man's hair, her face on the opposite side of his, hidden and unable to see Carver. He stood frozen, watching the two of them, the man holding up his sister, kissing her as they coupled, the curve of his muscled backside accentuated with each thrust. Shamefully, his trousers felt tight and though he willed it down, his erection grew painful as he listened to the pleasured moans coming from beneath the man. Carver had to shake himself, the voice in his head scolding him as he remembered that the body of the woman that templar was with belonged to his sister.

For a second, Bryant could feel Carver's watching eyes and he turned his head slightly to see the horror-struck boy standing by the entrance. When their eyes met, Carver turned and fled, going back to the house. Ser Bryant closed his eyes in resignation, but was powerless to do anything, his orgasm was thundering towards him, building in his very veins, blood throbbing within him as Angie's lips crashed down on his the moment his face turned back towards hers.

Rushing back into the safety of the house, Carver ran past his mother, plunking the cup down on the table without ceremony. It was empty and she would assume that Angie drank it, that he was just upset at her teasing or some other such nonsense. He went past his mother, past where Bethany sat in front of the fire, piecing together a quilt. He went right into the room where his father was, sitting in a chair, covered in a blanket as he read from a large book. It had been her, Angie, _his sister_ that he'd seen through the window with Ser Bryant as they fixed the roof in Lothering, he was sure of it. She'd been with that templar for months, almost a year.

"Father, I just saw Angie with a templar."

In a warm, sweaty heap they lay, sprawled near the base of the pillar they'd used for support. He was panicked, wondering if he was about to experience the wrath of a father with a sword brandished, ready to defend the honor of his precious daughter. His voice was low as he told Angie about Carver's appearance. They dressed quickly and she sent him down the road, back to Lothering, unwilling to let him face her parents tonight. She knew they'd be waiting for her.


	6. Chapter 6

After much discussion, tears and pained explaining, Ser Bryant was summoned, the letter delivered by a traveling group of Chasind that were headed towards the village. Only the largest man with a battleaxe knew what the templars were, how to identify one and he swore solemnly that he would give the letter brought by the mage wench to the templar leader and no other. He thought it was a summons to battle, for it only said "My father requests your presence at your earliest convenience." The man would have been disappointed to learn of the true reason for the missive.

Malcolm Hawke was waiting for him, sitting in the small, warm kitchen. It was filled with the comforting smells of fresh food and sunlight streamed through the windows, made more brilliant as it bounced off the fresh snow outside. Ser Bryant swallowed thickly, tension rising in him, making his muscles feel taut and uncomfortable as he walked towards the table and sat down across from the man. Despite the cold, he was sweating in his armor, nervous energy making his movements erratic. He did his best to still himself, to sit down and meet the eyes of Angie's father as they bore down on him.

He was obviously ill, his face haggard and large bags under the bright green eyes that Angie had inherited. As Bryant sat down, he coughed loudly, the violent spasm making his body quake and Leandra Hawke bustled into the room, but he simply waved a hand at her and the fretful woman disappeared to wherever she'd come from, a worried look on her face. Despite the infirmity, he was a handsome man, and he looked, disconcertingly, a great deal like Angie, more than Ser Bryant could recall from the handful of times he'd seen him in Lothering.

"Master Hawke." Ser Bryant began, but he waved an impatient hand at him too and Bryant stopped talking.

"Angie's in love with you." Malcolm stated, skipping over any pleasantries that might have been offered between the two men. "Are you going to hurt her?"

"No! Absolutely not." Ser Bryant was taken aback by the question, almost offended but the green eyes looked directly at him, never wavering. He was not easily intimidated, but he shrank a little from the look that Hawke was giving him.

"No." Ser Bryant began again. "I will always protect her if it is in my power. I love her too." He admitted. It felt funny to say it to her father before he'd said it to her, but it was the answer that the older man was looking for and he finally broke his intense gaze to heave a weary sigh.

"She's become a fine woman and protects us all. She bears too much burden to be so young, but she does it with a grace that could have only come from her mother. I am glad you care for her, that you won't be taking us all to the Tower." Malcolm said, sitting back in his chair.

"All of you?" Ser Bryant asked.

In answer, Malcolm conjured a ball of magic and let it sit in his hand for a moment before extinguishing the spell. He was the one she'd been protecting, why she'd refused to talk to him about magic at all. Bryant had wondered where she'd learned her magic, but drew his own conclusions that it was a hedge witch or some other apostate that had been paid to train her.

"I was in a Circle once, but I had a friend in the Order and he helped me. 'Rule is not served by caging the best of us.'" Malcolm informed the astonished Ser Bryant, quoting the templar that helped him escape. "But I am a trained mage, and I've trained my daughters the right way. My magic will serve what is best in me, not that which is most base."

Ser Bryant took in all the information in silence, simply sitting at the table for a moment. Daughters, he'd said _daughters_. Angela was one thing, but there was a whole family, her _whole family_ almost, of apostates, right here in his jurisdiction. When he'd stopped those bandits from attacking them on the road, Bethany hadn't been using magic, she'd been behind Angie. She'd been protecting her sister, keeping her from using magic out in the open, protecting them all, even from him.

Then he realized that Malcolm Hawke wasn't just trusting him with a secret, but with the welfare of his family. A dying man was living openly for the first time in his life, asking him to let his daughter - the woman Ser Bryant had fallen in love with, live a normal, unshackled life.

"So long as the templars of Lothering are under my direction, your family need not worry." Ser Bryant affirmed, his grey eyes meeting the deep emerald of Malcolm Hawke's.

"I'm sorry for the trouble I've caused, especially with your son." Bryant apologized, his face tight with contrition.

"My presence was unexpected that night, but I'd come because she gave me these gifts. They were so thoughtful, but I wanted to give her something in return. I'm not a wealthy man, and I have no family heirlooms or anything of the sort. All I could offer is my love and respect, and I'd just come to convince her to speak with you, to tell her family about us. Things got...a little overheated." He finished, growing red in the face. To his surprise, Malcolm Hawke chuckled.

"I was a young man once, and understand how things get overheated in quite a hurry. Angela did explain everything, that you didn't take liberties with her. She said you've always been a gentleman, and your willingness to come here and face me, though you had no reason to answer my summons gives me hope." Malcolm sighed, running a distracted hand through his greying hair. "This isn't the best situation for a father, and even worse when that you're a templar and she a mage, but I trust my daughter's judgement, and she loves you, so I must respect that bond."

"You're a good man." Malcolm said, appraising him across the table. They sat in silence for a moment before he began again. "It's been wonderful, you know, seeing her so happy." Ser Bryant didn't have to ask what he meant. It was wonderful for him too, meeting Angela with a smile on her face, knowing that he was the cause.

"She's been more like herself than ever. Angie was always a happy, sweet child, but the moving took its toll on her."

"I don't know what the future holds for us, but I'll always love her." Bryant stated. The moment he spoke the words aloud, he knew they were the truth, though the speaking made him feel foolishly sentimental.

"But you can't leave the Order, and it would be far too dangerous for her to live in town, even one as small as Lothering." Malcolm Hawke thought aloud, nodding sadly. "Take my advice and don't worry about the future. The world has a way of ruining plans. Just enjoy what you have now."

With that advice he stood up, stretching his frail limbs towards the ceiling before turning back to Ser Bryant, still seated at the table.

"You should go outside and talk to Carver. Take out your sword and spar with him, try to explain you weren't taking advantage of his sister. He'll believe you, eventually, if you keep coming back.

* * *

All through the cold weather months he came, visiting the Hawkes on his rest days, when he could get away from Lothering, helping around the farm, stealing kisses from Angie, sparring with Carver, tasting whatever Bethany made in the kitchen. Bryant talked with both Leandra and Malcolm, but Malcolm increasingly less as he withdrew into his illness, until it became more common that he was sleeping during Bryant's visits than not. Whenever he collapsed into his bed back in the barracks, he thought of Angie and her family, how he'd inadvertently stumbled into a life that had always been just out of reach for him.

Angie worked, she went into town to trade and sell for what her family needed, to see Bryant away from Carver's too watchful eyes. The time they spent together was decidedly less intense than before, he and Angie still sneaked away together, but the more people that knew about them, the more rules bound the two and their interactions.

He'd come to spar with Carver, to train him with the heavy greatsword the boy insisted on using. Upon arriving at the house, Leandra directed him to Angie, who was helping Carver wash clothes.

"Why does Carver need your help?" Bryant asked, perplexed as they headed out to the barn, he hefting a sack of clothes. Angie smiled over at him.

"You'll see." She answered.

Carver was already in the barn, a giant metal basin in front of him, ice floating on top of the water within it. Angie walked over to the basin and hovered a fist close to the side, the cold metal turning instantly to warm as flames danced from her hand. Bryant could feel her using magic, and realized that she was shooting the flames onto the metal basin to heat the water. When steam rose from the water, she released the magic, shaking out her fist and moving away from the basin and Carver dumped in grated soap, swirling it around with a large wooden stirrer that resembled a giant dowel a few times before adding in the clothes.

"Hot enough?" Angie asked Carver.

"Yeah, it's fine. Thanks." He said, absently as he applied himself to his task.

As they walked back to the house he asked, "Why didn't you just heat the water instead of the metal basin?" His mind was still reeling from her everyday use of magic. Something within him wondered if all mages couldn't be like this, if they could use their magic as the gifts they were after they'd had some training and instruction.

"I got a bad steam burn that way once. Father and Bethany can't cast even the most basic healing spells and do you know how hard it is to focus enough to heal yourself when you're burned? Ugh, no. It's better to heat the basin."

"Do you use magic often?" He asked, and Angie gave him a sidelong look, trying to decide if he was serious. He held her hand as they walked, marveling over the fact that it had just been shooting flame and now it was normal, like any other hand, warm and soft in his.

"Of course I do! I just don't use it around you."

"Why not?" Bryant asked, astonished. He'd expected her to say she hardly used her magic at all.

"What reason do I have? You've been trained to fear and disapprove of magic. I didn't want to give you any more reasons to feel like that, even inadvertently. Besides, we're still out in the open, I don't use my magic openly unless lives are threatened."

He nodded slowly, trying to grasp how much control she must have. Angie knew how magic was seen and was careful not to arouse suspicion, even from him. Had it been the other way around, she a templar and he a mage, he didn't know that he'd be able to reign his power in, to be so disciplined in every moment of life. Even as a templar captain, his facade slipped. Hadn't it when he'd become involved with Angie?

"Come on, let's get back inside. Beth's been wondering when your Name Day is, and I kept forgetting to ask you. She's probably inside baking you something right now, pretending your Name Day is coming up."

"It's in two months, the first of Nubulis" He told her and she stopped, standing on the porch to the house.

"Mine is the last day of Pluitanis, the day before." Angie said. "Huh." She shrugged. "That's such a strange coincidence."

He pulled her to him, pressing her against his side as he leaned down to kiss her before they went back into the house. "Maybe we should exchange gifts at the same time." He purred in her ear, a finger trailing down her face lightly.

"Maker, Bryant. Sometimes I think you weren't raised in the Chantry at all." Angie replied shakily, his words turning her into jelly. Bryant threw back his head and laughed loudly, his body shaking the rickety porch. Inside the house, Leandra smiled.


	7. Chapter 7

It seemed to Bryant that time passed quicker when he was happy than when there was hardship, the hard times seemingly unfairly drawn out compared to the rapid flow of time when things were going well. Spring dawned on Ferelden, bringing floods and mud to the countryside, the weather warming only marginally, but the thankfully, the days grew longer. His armor was shined, polished to a lusterous sheen that reflected brightly in the sunlight as he walked behind the Chantry, his shiny boots squelching in the mud.

"Maker, let us commend the soul of your son Malcolm Hawke, beloved husband and father. We pray that he reaches your side." The Mother intoned, and Bryant watched Leandra weep at the front of the crowd of people near the bank of the river. He stood with Angela, his arm around her waist, a silent declaration of his role in her life. If the people in Lothering didn't know about them before, they would after watching the two of them together.

In Lothering, it was tradition for the body to be set into a canoe and into the river, for it to burn as it flowed with the current. Leandra took one step forward, brushing her fingertips over his face before taking a step back, where Carver put an arm around his mother. The young man's own face was stained with tear tracks, but his jaw was set as he consoled his mother. Bethany wept wretchedly to Angie's right, clinging to Angie's hand, her other covered in a handkerchief and pressed to her face, catching her hopeless sobs.

When the archers released the flaming bows that lit the canoe holding Malcolm Hawke on fire, Bryant felt his composure slip, and tears fell from his eyes. Behind him he could hear a crowd of people, mostly from Lothering that had known the man or the family, knew them to be good and hard-working, sniffling in the background of Leandra's loud, shaking sobs. Angie didn't cry.

Bryant went with them, back to the farmhold. There was a carriage that was hired to take them home, to spare them the long walk in their grieving state, and it bumped along the uneven dirt path away from Lothering.

"Tell me about your family." Angie directed as they sat at the kitchen table. He'd make tea and sat the warm mugs in front of all of them, but only Leandra and Bethany were drinking it. People would arrive soon, people with food and flowers, gifts and things to honor the dead. He was glad to be here before they arrived.

"I'll tell you what I can, but I haven't had heard from them in some time. My parents can't read, but some of my brothers could, so I used to write. There were a lot of us, I had an older sister that was much older and got married, she had a bunch of babies too and younger one that I don't remember that well, but it was mostly us boys. They sent me to the Chantry to get an education, but also because I couldn't be apprenticed to anyone at the time. There was no one looking for help in my village, and so I went into the Chantry, became a templar. But I loved them, I remember a house full of noise and laughter and sleeping on a floor next to one of my brothers. I remember my mam's hair coming undone from her bun and that she was with child when I left."

"But mostly I remember my father telling me to be true to myself. He said 'You're the one that has to live with you.' I never forgot that." Bryant finished, looking over at Angie. Carver and Beth were both listening to him talk, but he felt as if he were alone with Angie.

"That's why you didn't take me to the Circle when you found out I was a mage." Angie stated, looking at him for confirmation. The templar nodded.

"I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I had. You were defending your sister, the only way you could." Bryant said. From his left side, Bethany hugged him and he squeezed her back, one arm wrapping around the slender girl.

"But you loved her too, right?" Bethany asked from his shoulder.

"Yes, I love her." Bryant replied. Angie reached for his hand across the table.

"And I love you." She answered softly.

* * *

The Chantry was nearly empty when Angie pushed open the heavy doors, her eyes focusing on the dim light cast by the holy brazier. It had been some time since she'd been in the holy building, she hadn't felt like coming to services after her father's funeral, nearly five months before. She eased into an empty row of seating, settling herself on the wooden bench alone, head bent towards the hands clasped in her lap.

"How are you today, my child?" Angie looked up from the pew where she sat. The Revered Mother was standing at the end of the aisle, blocking her exit. Angie bowed her head in acknowledgement before answering.

"I am better today, Your Reverence." It was an honest answer, though not especially comforting.

"You are still feeling adrift after the loss of your father. It may be of little consolation now, but in time the feeling passes and you will find your footing again. I know that the templar captain comes in here and prays for your family often." She said it casually, but Angie felt her back bristle at the words.

"What do you mean?"

"Ser Bryant has mentioned that things are not easy for your family right now, that you bear much of the burden for their welfare yourself. You are a responsible young woman and would be a credit to any partner you so chose. When your time of mourning is passed, I hope that you give Bryant due consideration." The Revered Mother said, scrutinizing her.

Angie stared back, refusing to drop her gaze. She didn't fully understand what the woman was looking for, but perhaps she found her answer because she it was she that turned away first. Excusing herself, she moved from the pew with a tight smile on her lined face.

Her mother was observing the official Chantry yearlong mourning period. Technically Angie wasn't bound to the same standards, Bryant informed her that he had been prohibited from spending time with her alone when she visited Lothering due to standards of 'decorum' the Revered Mother reminded him about.

There were further restrictions put on them should they decide to formally pursue marriage, they had to court openly for months, then declare their intent to the Order and the local Chantry and get approval. Then they had to get the permission of the Grand Cleric in Denerim before they could post banns with the Chantry to actually get married, that is, if Bryant wasn't summoned to Denerim to go through questioning about the union. The whole process was designed to be lengthy and discourage templars from marrying.

The whole incident bothered Angie later, troubling her mind as she lay in her bed that night. The Revered Mother was watching them, had been since she'd seen her in Bryant's office. She got the feeling that the woman suspected something - probably not that she was a mage, but that there was something that Angie wasn't forthcoming about. It made her uncomfortable, and worried for Bryant. This whole affair could get him into plenty of trouble if it were revealed that he'd known about her magic.

In a few days, the incident was pushed to the back of her mind, her work during the harvest season taking over her life. They had vegetables, Mother and Beth picked cucumbers and beets and stored the root vegetables, but Angie always wanted more fruits.

Last year they'd hardly made any jams, and there were no fruit trees or bushes on their farm, save for a lone tree that bore the sourest apples known to man. Bryant helped on the farm, taking Carver's chores while he fished during the earlier part of the day, until Angie decided to go looking for more fruit in the woods before it got too dark to find their way home.

Out amongst the trees, Angie walked, looking for a particular copse of berry bushes that she knew yielded a late crop. Bryant followed her, and she was amazed at how silently he moved without his heavy armor. They crept quietly through the wooded area, holding hands, her mabari at their heels, bringing up the rear.

"How's your mother doing?" Bryant asked her.

"Still not well." Angie sighed. "Some days are better than others and some days she's still sick with grief. Mother's never been a person to look back, she always tries to move forward and get past her losses. It's so heartbreaking to watch her and know that she never thought she'd have to do it without Father. She's at loose ends, but it feels like we all are most days." Angie admitted, a frown wrinkling her pretty face.

"I'm worried about Carver as well." Angela sat down heavily on a moss-covered log and looked up at him morosely. "Bethany always cries, but Carver holds everything in. Sometimes I'm glad when he argues with me, because at least some of it is coming out. Could you talk with him?"

"Of course. I don't imagine it will be easy to get anything out of him that he doesn't want to talk about. Perhaps we'll just spar and I'll let him hit me a few times. Work out some aggression." Her templar mused and Angie gave a small chuckle.

"I don't know what I'd do without you Bryant. I really don't. You feel like home to me."

"Do you mean that?" He asked her, uncertainly in his eyes.

"Of course."

"I've been thinking about us, about getting married. I could leave the Order, they don't stop you, but I'm a full templar." He said, scratching his chin.

"I don't understand."

"Lyrium. I'm dependent on it." He explained. "I've tried to keep myself to as little as possible, taking less than they offer, but I can't deny that I need it. I'll be worse than useless once I start to withdraw from it." Angie wasn't surprised, but she hadn't fully comprehended that _Bryant_ was addicted, the realization hitting her like a kick to the chest.

"That doesn't mean," he said quickly "that I can't step down and stay in the Order. I could come live with you, be just a regular templar and stay in the barracks when it is demanded of me. Otherwise I'd come home to you, help you on the farm on my rest days, stay here with your family." He said it in a far away, almost dreamy voice and Angie could tell that was what he wanted. The thought he'd put behind it was evident, he'd considered their options and chose not to take her away but to try and integrate his life into hers.

"Are you asking me to marry you?"

"I hadn't actually gotten around to the asking part yet." He gave her a small, sheepish smile. She watched him and realized that he was nervous as he rubbed the back of his neck with a large, tan hand.

"I'm patient. It doesn't have to be now." She informed him, trying to relieve the pressure.

"There will be plenty of waiting while we get permission. The Order isn't known for expedience." He said with a frown. In one fluid motion he pulled Angie from her perch on the log, to her feet and embracing her. She let out a small squeak of surprise at the swift movement, but didn't protest.

"Will you marry me?" Bryant whispered into her ear. His breath made the hair on her neck stand up, as did his question. She knew it was coming, but married and settled had never seemed like her future before, despite what her mother wished for her.

Over Bryant's shoulder she could see the sun through the trees, the weak light filtering through the trees, lighting the autumnal colors of the forest, making the world around them look ethereal. The half-bare trees made into shrouded statues in elaborately colored dresses around them, the whole of the forest turning into a fantasy. Flipbook images filled her mind and she could picture their life in Lothering, him patrolling the roads around the farm, becoming a part of her family. There would be days where they'd lay in bed, forgetting the world outside, nights where they'd retreat into each other after unforeseen adversity. Eventually there might be a baby, just the thought of that made her eyes fill with unexpected tears.

"Yes." Angie whispered back, the tears she held back making her breath catch slightly. "I'd love to marry you."


	8. Chapter 8

"Have you spoken to the Revered Mother about it recently?" Angie asked, sitting across from Bryant at a dirty table in Dane's Refuge, the pub in Lothering. The band of musicians playing in front of them were in high spirits, but it wasn't working on the pair, and that sat across from each other, unable to enjoy themselves.

Angie eyed the man playing the large lap hard, marveling at his concentration. The singer was in perfect tune, matching the plucked notes of the harp with her voice, rising and falling in pitch like water ebbs and flows from a shore. The man with the bodhran drum thumped a quick beat to the dance song, and around them a few couples had gotten out of their seats, moved by the music. She closed her eyes and willed patience to herself, tried to let the music soothe her frustrated mind, but the beat seemed to mirror her impatience.

"Yes, she's still looking over our petition." Ser Bryant answered, trying carefully to keep any annoyance out of his voice, but Angie could tell that he too grew weary of waiting. Anger flashed brightly in her green eyes and he wanted to kiss her worries away, or at least give her something else to think about.

"After all her meddling, now she won't give us permission!" She said, exasperatedly. "It's been months since Mother's mourning period was over." It had been six months and Angie knew it, but chose not to say it aloud. It was over a year since he'd asked and they weren't any closer to it. She'd suggested a handfasting, but he declined, knowing that the Order wouldn't respect the tradition, and he'd eventually be separated from Angie if they didn't get properly married.

"She thinks your renewed presence at Chantry services is to come see me, and to further our marriage petition."

"Well, it is." Angie admitted. "But at least I am making an effort."

"I think the real problem is that I informed her of my wish to step down, to live with you. She'd have to request a new captain, and our numbers are low."

"So she would deny us just because the Order would need to train someone new?"

"They work to serve their own interests, which are not known to me. We need to tread carefully." He cautioned.

"Alright, whatever you say." Angie's shoulders slumped. She grew more forlorn as their engagement drew out. They'd been together for years, only to be denied by a technicality.

He moved his chair next to hers and hugged her to him, kissing her cheek as he did. If he didn't get permission, he'd leave the Order. They'd just have to find a way of getting him some lyrium.

* * *

 __Bryant met Leandra, Bethany and Carver on the snowy road, unusual to see all of them together, but Leandra explained that she wanted to visit the Chantry and that Angie was waiting for him. The smile she bestowed upon him said that it was more than just a desire to pray, and Bryant had the good grace to flush as he nodded at her. With a hug from Beth and a nod from Carver, he let them get on their way, down the path he'd just walked as he traced their route, back towards the farmhold.

When he got to the farm, Angie was waiting for him, her skin damp from the bath she'd just exited in time for his arrival. He wished, more than ever that their petition to be married would be approved but with the time that had elapsed since they'd put it in, he knew it would be unlikely if they ever got it approved. The deliberate sidestepping of his petition put another doubt in his mind about the Chantry but he never voiced them.

"There's been word of increased Darkspawn attacks from Wilders. They're coming north in big groups." Ser Bryant told her as he lay in her bed. He was laying on his back, with Angie settled against his chest, her chin over his heart. Her face looked happy, eyes twinkling and a smile on her lips, framed with her dark hair, slightly mussed from their coupling. This was how he loved to see her, he could work twenty days with no break, just to see her like this.

"Has there really? Could it be the beginnings of a Blight?" Angie asked, a sudden chill down her spine causing her to shiver as she spoke.

"Yes. King Cailan thinks it might be something, word is that he's contacted the Wardens."

"The Grey Wardens? I thought there were none in Ferelden."

"Very few. The Revered Mother isn't pleased because no one is giving her any information, even this little bit was told to us by one of the Bann's soldiers. I don't know if it could be a Blight though, could be a big raid. I've seen those horrid creatures before. Maker save us if it is truly a Blight. I can't imagine being overrun by them." This time it was he that shuddered and she pulled him closer.

"Shh. Let's not waste the time we have alone with such talk." She kissed his chest, letting her hand trail down his body as she did. "Now," she said in a teasing voice, "is it just Grey Wardens that have the fabled stamina, or is it all knights?" I think we should prove those Wardens wrong." Angie purred into his ear.

"Your idea is so intriguing," he kissed her, two fingers pinching a nipple until it became a hard numb between his fingertips and she moaned, squirming beneath his touch, "that I won't ask where you heard such vulgar talk."

A searing line of kisses was drawn down her neck as he teased her, and against her thigh she could feel his half-hard cock stiffening once more. Angie let her head fall back as he kissed her, but ran her nails across his overheated skin, letting it trace lines around his cock before taking it in her hand. They rolled together, nearly ending up on her floor as they kissed again, more leisurely but no less passionate than earlier. When she could feel his hardness against her belly, she pulled him on top of her, letting him slide in naturally. Angie closed her eyes and sighed contentedly as he moved slowly, back and forth within her again.

In every city, town, village and hamlet in Ferelden, soldiers became a common sight, marching, training, or recruiting members to the army during the next few months.

Angie was crying, wretched, horrible sobs. Bryant hadn't seen her in such a state since he'd consoled her after Malcolm died, over two years ago. Carver was standing across the room, his large, muscular arms crossed, looking disdainfully at Angela and his twin, who were both crying. Leandra looked stunned, simply shocked into a stupor.

"What's going on?" Bryant asked, immediately walking over to Angela and cradling her in his arms.

"Carver's joined the army. He's going to fight the darkspawn." Leandra told him in a dead voice. "My little boy."

"I'm not a little boy anymore Mother, I'm eighteen. I don't know why none of you are proud of me! I'm going to do something for the good of everyone, help get rid of the darkspawn scourge." Carver's face twisted with anger that he was no longer able to hide. Bryant let go of Angie and walked over to him, then held out his hand for him to shake.

"Congratulations Carver." He said. "The army will be better for having you in it."

"Bryant?" Angie said, her voice almost lost to her tears but her confusion was evident.

"It's his choice, he has to make his own way in life. It's a fine one, there are plenty of brave men and women joining up right now to fight for Ferelden, and Carver is a menace with his weapon. He will be a credit to the troops."

Carver shook Bryant's hand heartily, glad to have an ally. Angie sobbed all the harder, thinking of her stupid brother going off to a battle he wasn't prepared for, but Leandra understood.

"I just never thought it would come to this. All the work your Father and I did, and here we are about to lose everything to devil creatures cast out by the Maker." Leandra moaned, thinking of how long they'd lived in Lothering. It was too much for her to bear, and she shook her head to clear it, then spoke again.

"Angie, Beth, come into the kitchen, I'll make us some tea." She finished, still looking shocked, but she'd regained some of herself at Bryant's words.

Bryant forestalled her. "I'll make the tea," he said, "you sit with your family."

"You're part of the family too. You sit. I'll do the tea." She ordered, walking into the kitchen.

Angie went over to Carver and patted his head, as if he were a lost little dog. For once, he let her express the tenderness that always lay between them, buried under all the other feelings that so often came to the surface, and he closed his eyes at her touch. Then it was over, she was moving back towards Bryant, wrapping an arm around him as he kissed the top of her head, leading her into the kitchen.

  
"Angela! Why are you still here? Get your family out of Lothering!" Bryant's face was anguished as it looked into hers and he was barking orders at her as if she were one of the templars under his command.

"You know that Carver was at Ostagar. If he lives, he'll come home." Angie explained. "We've been healing people coming from the battle." She, Bethany and Leandra had set up a makeshift infirmary in their barn, healing the wounded as they walked through, commending souls to the Maker as they perished. Death stalked her since hearing of the loss at Ostagar, but she refused to believe that Carver was among the dead or missing.

Ser Bryant studied her, this woman that he'd been with for so long, that he loved. She was brave and determined, though he could tell worried beyond measure about her brother. He worried for Carver as well, he couldn't help but think of him his own younger brother. One last time, he wrapped his arms around Angie, pulling her into a rough, bruising kiss that said his goodbye for him.

"I should have married you before, left the Order." He sighed, sadness creasing his weary face. They were still locked in an embrace, and he didn't want to let her go, didn't want to stop holding her.

"Neither of us could abandon our duty before, just as we can't now. I will flee, but only when we are sure about Carver." He nodded, not wanting to dash her hopes by telling her of the tales that he'd been hearing from survivors. The horde had been vicious, the battle, a slaughter.

"Don't die." He instructed her and she gave a sharp, brittle laugh.

"You either. I mean it." She ordered. Placing one sweet, last kiss on his lips she turned away from him, onto a merchant to get her supplies. He watched her, watched her near running from the town back to her farm, and knew that he would never see her again.

Grey Wardens passed through Lothering and the woman looked like Angela. It made him start when he saw her, and she was obviously a mage, but Wardens were allowed to walk freely and he had no interest in capturing apostates. The Warden, her face was similar to Angie's in the strangest ways, her coloring, the freckles and brown hair, but she was younger, and said she'd been recruited from the Circle. Ser Bryant sighed and berated himself. He was just heartbroken and imposing the face of his love onto another woman. Nevertheless, he urged her to leave, just as he had with Angela. There was no need for more people to die.

The next time Angie came to Lothering it was blighted, the horde already passed through the area that had once been a town. There was no sign of anyone, but Angie studiously checked every single body they passed for templar armor, making sure it wasn't Bryant. After inspecting another body and taking the few possessions that had been on it, Angie stood up and looked around, back towards where the town had been. Tears filled her eyes and Bethany came up next to her, taking her hand and squeezing it, wordlessly acknowledging her loss. Even if he was out there, he was lost to her.


	9. Chapter 9

When they fled Ferelden for Kirkwall, Angie threw herself into work with the Red Iron. She missed it all, her father, Bethany, Ser Bryant, Ferelden and nothing soothed her. In the nights, she thought of him, and even composed a letter to the Grand Cleric of Ferelden inquiring about him, but it became kindling for Gamlen's fire, she was too afraid to send it, her fear that he had perished making a coward out of her.

Carver heard her sobbing during the nights, late, when she thought he was sleeping, whispering her templar's name over and over again. Combined with Mother's crying, calling out for Bethany, and the stink of his drunken uncle, he was sure he lived in the most wretched hovel in all of Kirkwall.

Every trip to the Gallows saw Angie peering into the templar's helmets, hoping that his grey eyes would look back at her one day. At first, Carver was understanding, he missed Bryant as well, but then he grew annoyed with her constant refusal to let it go. It was the past.

"Angie, he's never going to be here." He told her one day, as she walked slowly along, glancing sidelong at the men in their armor.

"I know." She replied sadly, but still she looked around again before trading with an armor merchant.

Aveline came up next to Carver and Varric, never one to miss out on the whispers of others, moved closer as well.

"Who is she looking for Carver? Was someone after her in Ferelden?" Aveline asked. She disliked the Gallows and hated coming here, but found it strange that Angie was so drawn to the place. Carver sighed and looked back at Angie before answering.

"Your husband, Wesley, did he know the Lothering templars at all" Aveline nodded.

"A few."

"Ser Bryant, the captain in Lothering. He and Angie..." He trailed off, not saying anymore. Aveline remembered him, but only vaguely.

"She was in love with a templar? Are you sure you've got that right, Junior?" Varric asked incredulously.

"They were together for years. He protected our family, taught me some swordplay. A good man." Carver said, and then looking at Varric, clammed up. "It's Angie's business, if you want to know more, ask her."

Aveline looked over at Angie, who was still sneaking glances around the Gallows, looking around for a man that wasn't there. A templar. She went over to Angie and put a hand on her shoulder. Of all people, she understood.

  
There were nights when she couldn't help but think of him, when the sky was clear in Kirkwall and not filled the with oppressive smog that choked the life from the inhabitants, the tendrils of fetid air wrapping around their throats like iron fingers. Whenever she could see the stars, she thought of Bryant, and all that they almost had. In Kirkwall she had no one, and once Carver went to the Wardens after their near fatal trip to the Deep Roads, she had even less.

There was word, word of her in Kirkwall, in the Free Marches. Ser Bryant didn't know how she'd gotten there, how she'd even lived through the Blight or what she'd been doing for the past four years, but she was thought to be alive. He wrote to her, long, honest letters, angry, overjoyed, relieved and everything in between. Diligently he wrote out his heart, filled paper after paper and sent them with messenger to Kirkwall from Redcliffe. She never responded and he didn't know if it was just rumor that she was alive, or that if sending her letters to someplace called "The Hanged Man" had been his mistake.

Her mother talked about finding her a husband once they moved to Hightown, but both of them knew it was just talk - in Angie's mind, she already had a husband. The words came to her one day as she sat at her writing desk, smelling the warm, homey scent of bread baking in the kitchen. It reminded her of Ferelden, of the farm that she knew had been destroyed, the scrubbed wooden table where she and Bryant had once sat and eaten and she was able to write to him, to see if Ser Bryant lived through the Blight. Without knowing where he was, she wrote to the Chantry in Denerim, hoping her letter would be forwarded. Weeks passed and with every week, her hope of an answer faded and she resigned herself to his death, mourning again for him.

With the death of Leandra, Angie felt like she could break no more. Watching her mother's life ebb away as she held her mutilated body in her arms had broken her as nothing else had. At least with the other deaths she hadn't had to endure those last few moments when there was nothing to say but, _Goodbye_ when all her heart wanted to was to beg and plead, to scream, _Please stay, don't leave me all alone._

Her friends watched the change in her, watched Angie seal even more of herself away and were powerless to stop it. The Qunari attacked the city after Isabela fled and the angry troops under the Arishok laid waste to the once proud city of chains. None stood after Angie unshackled herself against them, and all knew her to be a mage. Rumors flew that she was almost as powerful as the Grand Enchanter herself.

"Hawke, I found some things that might be yours." Varric said to her as she walked into the Lowtown pub that felt more like home than the empty Amell mansion. Now that Isabela had returned to her usual spot at the bar, all felt like it was better in the world.

"What have you got there?" Angie asked as Varric pulled out a small crate full of paper. She picked one up from the pile, examining it. Her heart skipped a beat as she recognized the neat, small script of Bryant's hand. Angie closed her eyes and pressed the letter to her chest."Where did you get these?" She whispered to Varric. These letters were old by the looks of them, and there were quite a few, some thick, large bundles tied with twine. They were all still sealed, the wax stiff with age and cracking.

"They, uh, they've been here. Isabela's raider friend, Martin, he found them stashed away in a back room here." Varric chuckled. "I think he was hiding from someone. I don't know why no one ever gave them to me, or you, you're here enough, but here they are now."

"This is his writing. I know it is. He was looking for me." Angie said softly, carefully opening a letter. Varric was silent as she read the missive, and he pretended not to notice the tears that rolled down her face. He toed his boots into the filthy floorboards, and waved Norah away as she tried to enter and take more drink orders. After reading the letter, turning it over in her hands, looking once more at the envelope, Angie spoke again.

"When I resolve this mess between Meredith and Orsino, I'm going to Denerim. I have to find him." She declared to Varric. Then she turned away from him, picking the crate up from his table and hugging it to her chest.

"Thank you for these Varric. It means more to me than you'll ever know." Varric nodded at his friend and watched her leave.

Hawke had been as close as family for years, but he'd never asked about the man she'd loved in Ferelden, although Junior had been more forthcoming under influence of drink one night. Anders had been disgusted at the idea of her falling in love with a templar, but Carver had insisted that the man was honorable, that he'd wanted to marry Angie and would have, if the Blight hadn't happened. No one asked her about it, and Aveline refused to speak on it ever, shaking her head stubbornly when asked. Even Isabela wasn't brazen enough to ask Hawke to her face, but despite the number of years that passed, every so often Varric would catch Hawke looking hopefully around the Gallows.


	10. Chapter 10

Bryant was summoned to Denerim by the Order where he was summarily imprisoned and stripped of his seniority when it was revealed that Angie was a mage, and that he'd been in a relationship with her in Lothering and had petitioned for marriage. The Grand Cleric had Angie's letter for him, but never released it, instead using it as fodder to justify his imprisonment, proof of their illicit relationship.

He was punished and made to say horrible things about her, to recant any words of love he'd ever spoken. There were some that tried to break him, but he held on in his mind, thinking _she's still alive, and she wants you to get through this._ Throughout all of the time he sat in the dark, cold cell, water dripping down on his head from an unknown leaking crevice, the scurry of small rodents filling the air, he retreated into his mind.

In his memories, he could see the sunlight again and smell grass on Angie's skin as they made love in a field. There was a smile that she saved just for him, a laugh that only he heard and when he wasn't starved for lyrium, he cast his mind back, careful to hide his refuge from his captors. He spoke nothing of Angie, hardly talked at all as time wore on, but he was always with her. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face, bright green eyes peering up at him, brown hair fanned over his pillow, saw her with her family as they were in Lothering. She saved him over and over again, and he held tight to all he could recall of her, the way her hair felt between his fingers, the sounds she made when she cried, watching her nimble hands sew.

He was fortunate, there were people in the Order, people that he'd served with and that knew him and Angie, remembered the Hawke family and helped him, kept him from being too hurt by the jailors that seemed to want nothing more than to make him miserable for an indefinite amount of time.

When he was released they sent him to Gwaren. A remote and desolate outpost if there ever was one and as far from the Free Marches as he could get.

"You're _Ser_ Bryant?" A templar captain, younger than he, sneered at him when he reported for duty.

"Yes, Captain." He answered, though beneath his skin his blood boiled with fury and the desire to knock this whelp down a few pegs.

"Still in love with that mage bitch? The one that butchered the Qunari in Kirkwall?"

"I never loved her." Bryant lied, knowing that was what he was supposed to say. His heart betrayed him, beating faster inside of his armor at the thought of Angela.

"Good. I see my mates did their job with you. If I see one letter to Kirkwall, hear about you even going near the docks, I'll make sure there's no lyrium coming your way." The boy finished.

"Yes, Captain." Bryant answered, looking down at his own feet. He shivered without realizing it, remembering the horrible withdrawal he'd suffered in the damp cell. It was constantly dark and he was alone there, howling until his voice grew hoarse, begging like a dog when he wasn't curled in a ball, rocking back and forth. They let him go for six days, just enough to make him crazy, then gave him a small portion to ease his nerves, make him coherent again. Then they started it all over again.

But then remembered he was free again, and he retreated inside himself, allowing laughter to fill his head. This man would never know of his defiance. Angela was all that he ever thought of - he loved her now more than ever, a flame that burned brighter even as they tried to extinguish it. In his quarters, he took out the picture he'd drawn of Angie in Lothering. He'd hidden this one, it was the only one that survived. The picture and the book she'd given him, it was all he had save for his memories, but he knew it was all he'd need.

He got used to Gwaren in time. It was rough, damp and foggy most of the time, the townspeople as wary of templars as they were of mages and friendly to no outsiders. In prison a cough settled into his chest, and in Gwaren, the thick, wet air made it worse and in the mornings he woke with a rattling chest filled with phlegm as he dressed for the duty he no longer took any pride in. He walked with a slight limp now, another souvenir of his stay, a bone that hadn't set correctly before it healed.

A boat was coming in on rough seas, the overcast sky and thick fog making it worse for the tiny vessel, and the lighthouse burned brightly during the day to guide any unfortunate ships in, thought it was of little help. Ser Bryant was walking from the Chantry, his shift standing outside the doors complete and it was his turn to clean the privy again. He walked slowly, his feet leaden in his armor as it pounded the uneven cobblestone walkway, but he was resigned to his life as he had been in the years since he'd come to Gwaren. The hair that had once been brown was highlighted with strands of white and though he paid little attention to time, he realized that he was forty. They'd send him to Val Royeaux in fifteen or twenty years if Gwaren didn't kill him first.

He'd gone back to the barracks before the fuss began, before the crowds parted and before the boat even docked. Angela disembarked first and upon finding her first templar, asked where Ser Bryant was. She was directed to the Chantry.

From there she got sent to the barracks, and no one bothered to question her, though she was clearly a mage. Though her reputation preceded her, not many people knew what she looked like, and the man that had been with her, carrying a huge maul on his back was wearing Grey Warden armor. No one questioned the Wardens, even when there was a mage amongst them. On her other side was a dwarf with a golden crossbow, who looked around in a casual manner, but his eyes darted about, taking everything in as they walked to the barracks.

"Do you know who I am?" Angie asked the young man on guard duty at the door. She held out her staff, gripping it with the hand that bore a ring with the symbol of Kirkwall intertwined with the Amell crest - the signet of the Champion.

"The Ch-Champion of Kirkwall! You killed that Qunari leader with your bare hands you did." The man stammered, unsure if that was the correct way to address her.

"Then go to the Chantry if you value your life." Angie was menacing, her fury making her magic even more potent, the air around her shimmering with her very will. She'd found out in Denerim that Bryant had been imprisoned because of her and she'd had the whole trip to Gwaren to think about it.

The young templar turned heel and ran, she could hear him clanging up the walk as she pushed open the wooden double doors and strode through them.

"Bryant!" She yelled as she entered, not wanting to waste time. A templar, the captain by the look of his armor came out of a side room, looking annoyed as he did.

"Who are you? You can't be here." He started, in a tinny voice. His face was annoyed as he squared off with her, but it changed to triumphant when he saw the double headed black staff in her hands. "Mage!" He yelled, and at that, some of his fellows joined him, four or five more templars that had been in various other parts of the building.

"Yes, I'm a mage." Angie let power flow through her freely now, letting it fill her so he could understand just how very dangerous she was. The foolish man activated his mana drain, but the wicked woman just grinned at him as he tried, looking at him as if he was a troublesome babe, up past his bedtime. She was too powerful for him, it would take several templars, probably all the ones in the barracks to disable her.

Every one of his senses tingled with a familiar feeling and Bryant, who had been stripping out of his armor to do his work, heard her calling for him, as she had in his dreams for almost a decade. Quickly redressing, his clumsy hands trying to redo what they'd just undone, he heard someone else yell "mage" and knew it really was her. He had to protect her, and with that thought he hefted his weapons and ran down to the door.

She was there, his Angie, looking more fearsome than he'd ever seen in armor with fur around the collar. It almost made him smile, thinking of that crimson cloak she used to love. Next to her was a Warden, and for a heartbeat he didn't recognize her brother at her side, the other flanked by a blond dwarf with a deadly looking crossbow. The air around her was crackling with electricity that she was barely holding onto, letting the magic sparks singe the others that had their weapons trained on her. At the forefront was his fool captain, his sword drawn.

"Angela!" He bellowed down the stairs, he nearly stumbled down them as he stared at her. She didn't take her eyes off his captain as she answered him.

"Bryant. Do you love me still?"

"All my life."

"Then get your things and leave with me, forever." She said, pulling back the magic that was dancing around the room. Foolishly, two templars mistook the removal of the immediate threat for an opportunity and earned a bolt each for it, the dwarf locking and loading faster than the eye could see.

"You've killed templars!" The Knight-Captain whimpered in an almost hurt whine.

"I've killed a lot of them in my time, you'll have to be more specific." Angie hissed through gritted teeth. "Bryant, go get your things." She reiterated the order in a stern voice and he could feel the tension as she tried to control herself to preserve the lives of the stupid templars still left in the room. This lot was truly pathetic, a dumber representation of his Order couldn't be found. No wonder they were hated in Gwaren.

He heeded the command just in time, for in the next second she blasted everyone in the room, the intense force magic sending everyone in the field slamming to the floor. He'd never moved so quickly in his whole life, taking his pack and putting all of his belongings in it. Meager as they were, it didn't take long and the only stop he made before joining her was to stop in his captain's office and clear out his lyrium supply. He would be fine for at least a six weeks now, and he wouldn't let that minor worry stop him from enjoying his liberation.


	11. Chapter 11

They left, back on the pirate ship that Angie's friend seemed to be the captain of, a buxom Rivani woman in high boots who was ready to go before they even got back.

"Bout time. Maker, I hate Gwaren. Got into a knife fight here with an elf once. She nearly got me too, but her foot slid because she was all covered in nug grease."

"As fascinating as _that_ story sounds, we have to get out of here Isabela. I just kidnapped a templar." Angie informed her.

"So what else is new? This is him I take it, the long lost love of your life and the reason you wouldn't sleep with anyone in Kirkwall?" Ser Bryant's eyebrow shot up at that but he said nothing.

"Talk later Isabela." Angie said stiffly.

"Why do you limp?" She asked, turning to Bryant.

"Leg never properly healed. Should have been reset." Bryant answered tersely, aware of all the strange eyes on him.

"Anders." Angie called out to another man, a mage. The blond man slunk over in a slightly guilty way, and sniffed disapprovingly at Bryant.

"You owe me." Angie said through gritted teeth. "I helped you even when I knew you were lying. The least you can do is help me. With the two of us healing him, how long do you estimate it would take to heal?"

"We'd have to break his leg again to set it right. But a few weeks at the most." The man answered, placing his hand on Bryant's leg. He made a face and then looked up at him.

"Who beat you, templar?"

"Members of my Order. I was imprisoned." Angie gasped in horror, tears filling her green eyes as her fears were confirmed. She should have dangled the damn Grand Cleric by her ankles when she was in Denerim and had half a mind to tell Isabela to stop there again, so she could.

"Yes, they have quite a lot of practice beating people." Anders answered in a hostile tone, but his face softened at that bit of information, his compassionate nature returning. She lead her templar away, below deck, where they flew into an embrace."I thought you were dead." Angie said, half-laughing, half-sobbing into his hair. Maker, he even smelled the same after all these years.

"I could say the same. I've missed you so much, more than you know." Her hands were different, older, scarred, but they felt the same in his. She was thin, thinner than she'd ever been in Lothering.

"What happened to you, I mean after Lothering?" She asked.

"We escaped to Denerim just ahead of the horde. I was guarding the Revered Mother and she nearly waited too long. I was injured just outside of the city, it took me weeks to recover and I spent some time in Denerim, but then got sent to Redcliffe before the archdemon attacked. Part of the horde came there, the whole town retreated into Redcliffe Castle with the Hero of Ferelden's army." He stopped and peered at Angie, remembering the few times he'd seen the young Warden. "She looked like you."

"We're related. A cousin, on my mother's side." Angie informed him and he nodded. He hadn't been imagining her resemblance to Angie in Lothering.

"I was there when you became Champion and someone must have remembered about us in Lothering because they summoned me back to Denerim and threw me into prison for awhile." He swallowed, his voice growing distant. "They made me say horrible things about you, that I'd never loved you, calling you names. When they thought they'd broken me, they finally released me. Then I was sent to Gwaren."

As he talked, she'd been looking at him, studying him as she drank in his face. She couldn't stop touching him, his hands, his face, her mind hardly believing he was real. Bryant was older, but still just as handsome as he'd been the first time she'd seen him in the Chantry in Lothering, fourteen years earlier. His hair was greying at the temples, and his face had a bit of stubble across the jaw, but the changes suited him and overall, he was the same, hers.

"I'm so sorry Bryant." She said, kissing him, cradling his head in her hands. Sweet kisses changed and became so fierce that it reminded him of Lothering, how he'd feel after not seeing her for a week or ten days. How at times, it had been almost too intense with so many things unsaid and time taking their desire and warping it, fanning and multiplying it until it became almost unmanageable. This was different, harder, grittier, the neediness not borne of the want of his flesh, but deep longing, love dormant for too long to be truly contained.

"What happened to you?" He asked between kisses. Angie leaned back, just out of his reach as she drew in a huge breath, slowly blowing it out between lips reddened from kissing before beginning. Some of her story had reached his ears, but it had been rumor and taunting and he'd learned to tune it out, not wanting to know what was lies and what was truth.

"We were behind the horde and got cut off. Bethany died saving us from an ogre" She said, flinching as she did. All these years and it still bothered her, but it explained Carver's Warden uniform. He gave her hand a squeeze, although the news made his heart heavy with misery as he recalled her bright, lovely younger sister. She was so young to have her life cut short - and it was so senseless.

"Saved by a Witch of the Wilds that could turn into a dragon, took ship to Kirkwall and became a mercenary. Went to the Deep Roads and found a fortune, bought back my mother's lost nobility. Carver got tainted and joined the Wardens. Mother was killed by a deranged necromancer serial killing mage, so then I killed him. Defeated an Arishok and just killed the Knight-Commander of Kirkwall who had become possessed by a lyrium idol." She rattled off.

"Leandra and Bethany, dead." He was quiet for a moment, taking it in. The Blight had taken so much from them. Then he thought about the part with the witch that could turn into a dragon; he'd find out the truth later, she was having him on now."So things are a little different than when we'd been in Lothering." He quipped, giving her a smile that made memories flood her mind. They were all good, every memory she had with him was good, even the last one when he'd been so brave and their futures so bleak.

"Just a little." She smiled back at him, stroking his hand with her fingers. "But I still love you. I always did."

"Your friend says you were faithful. As was I." He admitted. "I never thought I'd see you again and overjoyed doesn't begin to describe it, but how will this work? I'm still a templar, dependent on the lyrium. This is the same problem we had in Lothering."

"I'm richer than a teyrn's daughter. We'll get you more. Just stay this time, don't let anything get in the way of what we should have had years ago."

"That, I promise." Bryant said, resuming their kissing. He sank into the deep, familiar taste of her, holding onto the feeling in his heart. It had been so long since he'd felt it, he almost didn't recognize it, couldn't put a name to it. He felt safe, happy and hopeful, holding the woman he loved more than anything. He was loved. At her familiar touch, the years slid from between them, the absence almost dissolving as she stripped his armor and let it fall to the floor.

Gratefully, when all of his armor was gone and hers along with it, he stared at her. Her body was different, yet so achingly familiar he wanted to cry. In the years since they'd parted, she'd become a warrior. She'd always been fit, but a life of battle had given her strength and scars that were all new to him. Angie tasted the same when he kissed her, but more complex, with an edge. When he flicked at her nipple with the tip of his tongue, teasing her as he had years before in her bedroom in Lothering, she shuddered with pleasure and Bryant was pleased to discover she still liked the same things.

Angie looked over Bryant, she couldn't get enough of seeing him, gorging herself on the sight of him. After all she'd lost, it felt almost impossible to find him again, to be kissing a chest she knew so well she could recall it in near-perfect detail, despite the years of separation. But now there were scars, so many more scars and it made fire burn within her, she wanted to hunt down the people that had hurt him and make them pay.

But there would be time for those thoughts later, she told herself. Laying back on top of the cool expanse of hardwood, she could feel the rocking ship gently urging them on. Her hands ran down Bryant's body of their own accord, greedily touching his skin, tracing the scars both old and new, taking in the heat of his ready body. She closed her eyes when she felt his hardness dig into her, just the mere memory of how it had always been between them almost overwhelming her. She was home again.

After dipping a finger into her wet furrow, making Angie gasp, her green eyes shining with excitement, he pushed into her. She was like heaven, wet and tight, so tight, better than he remembered. She wrapped her legs around him, memories guiding her movements and neither of them lasted for very long. He'd barely pressed a thumb to her pearl when he felt her tight walls constricting around him, clenching him with such force he feared his cock might slip out. But he didn't and her breathy cries of his name urged his release, and he pounded deep into her, barely controlling himself as he came.

"Bloody hell." Carver muttered on deck to no one in particular. "It's like I'm fifteen all over again with those two."

"Let it go, Junior." Varric said, looking up from the notes he was taking. This shit had epic love story written all over it, and he hoped that when they finally made it back to Kirkwall, his printing press was still in one piece. "It's how all good love stories end."

"With two people rutting in the hold, making bloody animal noises?" Carver asked, laughing in spite of himself.

"No, with the heroine and her love riding off into the sunset." Varric said, pointing at the horizon through the fog that was beginning to break.Angie and Bryant made their way back to everyone else, though neither was particularly inclined to talk. Her dog came over and sat at his feet, remembering him immediately. Bryant patted his head, inwardly marveling that the old dog was still alive and with her.

They sat, huddled together, Angie with her head against his chest, eyes closed as the ship rocked and bobbed in the water. Bryant had one arm fastened tight around her waist, his other trailing lazily through her hair. It was darker than he remembered, but she didn't spend her days toiling under the sunlight on her farm anymore. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and felt eyes upon him, but knew who it was before he spoke, Carver. That boy had a gaze that always made him feel too scrutinized, as if he were under a magnifying glass.

A look passed between the two and Bryant nodded slowly, then Carver looked away. It was a promise, a promise to look after Angie, to stay with her, because the insignia on Carver's chest demanded that he leave one day and resume his duty.

A cool spray of the water dusted his face and Bryant closed his eyes, realizing that she'd saved him, that he'd been resurrected torn from his tomb in Gwaren, back to life with Angela. Through her robes, he could feel her heart beating, slow and even, calm, as she sat in his arms. There was no happier person in Thedas than he at that moment.


	12. Epilogue

Bryant exited the basement of their house, brushing tiny curls of wood off his clothes as he came up the stairs. He'd started woodworking since they'd settled in, trading furniture or little sculptures for supplies, mostly his lyrium.

A clan of Dalish had come by and they'd known Angie by reputation, and they weren't exactly friendly but had been open to trading with them. He hadn't asked to learn about their woodworking, instead simply watching until the clan's craftsman asked him if he'd like to learn some of their Dalish techniques one day. Others in the clan had been scandalized, but the older man had silenced them, letting Bryant come back until the day they had to move on.

He wasn't a Dalish craftsman, but he kept working. He liked keeping his hands busy, it reminded him of farming in Lothering, but he didn't have those long days of work in him any more.

Neither did Angie, he suspected, but she still loved to sew. They didn't have much of a need for money, Angie still had a fortune from Kirkwall, but he still walked over an hour into the village to trade her creations when they threatened to overwhelm the house.

Bryant opened the front door and went out, closing it carefully behind him. He needed more wood and his axe was out at the stump, but really, he wanted to find Angie. She hadn't been inside, but he knew where she was. Angie's old dog was laying on the porch, and Bryant leaned down, scratching his head and neck with one hand.

"Come get us when it's time to eat." He instructed the dog, who was used to this command, let out a short bark of affirmation.

The little cabin where they lived looked like little more than a shack on the outside, but Bryant's diligent handiwork had transformed the place into a sturdy, warm little house with exquisite detailing. The main room had a large, carved fireplace for cooking, and a comfortable table and chairs, with cupboards and a bookshelf. Their bedroom had a big, double bed that Bryant had spent months working on, carving a relief of a mabari into the headboard.

Not many could actually find their cabin if they hadn't been there before. It was at the edge of a forest of trees, with a rocky stream nearby, the rushing water difficult to cross. They were hidden from view, even in the winter when the smoke from their fire was visible, it would still be difficult to pinpoint the little shack. That was the way Angie wanted it.

Despite their remote location, Varric still managed to send cases of Orlesian wine and gossipy notes, along with copies of his latest books with couriers into the village every once in a while. Once, a disheveled Anders, running from something unknown, had appeared shivering on their doorstep in the middle of the night. Carver came twice, just showing up, always alone, having left the other Wardens someplace else. But those were exceptions to their solitary life.He left the woods, walking into a field that had a few red flowering plants at the edge. The vermillion blossoms that attracted the hummingbirds that woke him in the mornings were Angie's runner beans. She tended to them, the years of working a farm never quite out of her system. She grew herbs and lettuce in the windows of their home, and tiny potatoes were planted near the beans. They had other, smaller plants all over, but no garden, it would be too obvious.

As he crossed the waist-high, golden grass he tugged his hair out of the ponytail that kept it out of his face while he worked. Angie liked it when it hung loose, despite the strands of grey that were shot through it.

She was around where he thought he'd find her, sprawled in the grass with a book at her side. He sank down next to her, the two of them hidden in the tall grass.

"Hi." Angie said, looking up at him.

"Hello, beautiful."

"I bet you say that to all your wives." She joked, her hand above her eyes, shielding them from the intense glare of the sun.

"Just the ones that rescue me from Gwaren."

"Is that all it takes?" She murmured as he moved to lay down next to her in the grass. She curled into him, nestling her head in the crook of his arm, running a lazy hand through his hair. His hand slid down her side, touching her sun-warmed body through the lavender colored cotton dress she wore.

They lay like that, in the sun with the breeze teasing the top of the grass around them, talking occasionally, but mostly silent as time passed. When the sun dipped into the horizon, their faithful hound sauntered over to them and Angie and Bryant got up, the three of them going back to the little cabin to prepare dinner. Angie talked animatedly to him as she lit the fire with her magic, he laughing at her silly jokes. Bryant would cook, and she'd set the table. At night they'd lay in bed, just as they had in the grass, holding each other, silent and content.


End file.
